


in the future, i choose you

by foolmetal



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adam (Voltron) Lives, Allura (Voltron) Lives, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Canon Compliant, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 07, Season/Series 08 Speculation, a love letter to the fandom, how depressing is that tag now :/, klangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-17 07:44:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16970601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foolmetal/pseuds/foolmetal
Summary: Keith has always been the fiercest soldier of them all. At first, Lance hated him for it. Admired him despite it. Fell in love with him because of it.And now, maybe he dies fighting against it.----Takes place post-Season 7. Canon divergent now that Season 8 has aired. If you're looking for a happier? alternative to s8, details inside. To the Voltron fandom, with love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to post this a bit earlier but wasn't able to finish until now. this is my love letter to the fandom, the final season that i would like to see. but no matter what happens in season 8, i will never regret the journey. 
> 
> there is an epilogue, an important one, but i'll save it to post after the season has aired. so whether you love season 8 or are disappointed, i hope it will be something to look forward too. thank you for reading, much love.

In the weeks following Sendak’s defeat, Earth starts to rebuild.

He used to have fantasies of returning home, of embracing his mom, his siblings, of lying down in the sand and listening to the waves. In all the chaos of space, piloting lions and fighting for his life, it remained in his memory, pristine, untouchable.

Instead, Lance comes to find that in this war, nothing goes unscathed.

He can pretend that the Garrison and its surrounding area were the only parts of Earth involved in the struggle against the Galra, but the truth is that countries were destroyed. Governments were broken, and people were enslaved. Some died in the struggle, and others died serving the Galra.

This world is his still home, that much is true, but it’s not the one he remembers leaving behind. And so, what was once a journey to rebuild the castle ship becomes a mission to reconstruct Earth from its ashes, the only consolation being that they don’t have to do it alone.

“Hey, Keith?” he asks over the comms, peering down the barrel of his rifle and into the light it casts.

The mine is dark and creepy, bathed in a faint purple glow from Galran lamps placed sporadically through the tunnels. Even underground, the air is warm and sticky. He can feel the sweat dripping down the back of his neck and beneath his armor.

“Keith, buddy,” Lance says again, trying to sound calm, but he’s been alone in silence for at least half an hour now, and it’s starting to wig him out. “Where’d you go?”

Tools lie abandoned in his path, drills and picks, a mix of Galra tech and human. The objects speak of what the people here had to endure, forced to mine resources for the Galra and to build part of a cannon that would almost lead to their planet’s end.

They’d rescued those who were still trapped in this mine earlier in the day. The rest of the Blade members were up top assisting them now, setting up tents and beds for triage and distributing rations.

Down here - Lance was painfully aware from the sound of his own footsteps echoing down the halls and nothing else - down here, it was just him and Keith, on a simple sweep for intelligence recon, drives at the ready to extract any information that the Garrison might deem important.

He peers into another empty room, then down a corridor. Jail cells. Lance feels himself start to pitch sideways, rips his helmet from his head, and tries to gasp in fresh air.

_Why doesn’t this mine have better ventilation?_ he thinks, and, _Is this what it was like for them every day?_

“Keith!” he calls louder this time. “Keith, I swear to god, I’m going to pass out, and you’ll have to carry me all the way back to the top!”

No response. Lance lurches forward on unsteady legs, mumbling, cursing.

_We should have been here_ . It’s not the first time the thought has rattled dents around his skull. First Altea and now Earth. What good is Voltron and its pilots if they can’t even defend their home planets? _We should have been here to protect them._

There’s a cavern up ahead, and as Lance nears, he can see the machinery lining it’s walls. Ladders and platforms crisscross above his head. On the ground level, there’s a row of monitors, dimmed but functional. He clumsily follows the instructions Pidge gave him to integrate with Galra tech and employs her extraction program.

There’s no rush at least, no threat of sentries at his back. It’s funny how minutes can sometimes feel like a luxury, after years of missions in space where mere seconds could mean life or death.

So Lance takes the time to explore.

The far end of the room is shelf space, lined with vials of quintessence in golden and violet hues. It reminds him of the druids, of refinement facilities and runaway paladins. When he rounds a tower of crates to get a closer look, that’s when Lance spots him.

“Keith?”

The black paladin stands still, his back toward Lance, eyes facing the wall of quintessence. He doesn’t turn when Lance calls his name.

“Keith,” he says again to no response. He stares at Keith’s reflection in the glass, warped by its cylindrical shape, mesmerized. If it weren’t just a trick of the light, Lance would swear his eyes were glowing.

“Hey!” he demands, raising a hand to jostle Keith’s shoulder.

Keith gasps, neck snapping towards him and bayard activating in the same breath, its blade dangerously close to Lance’s side.

“Whoa, chill out!” Lance cries, staggering back. His own bayard deactivates, a white flag. _I am not a threat_.

“...Lance?” murmurs Keith, squinting, only then seeming to recognize him.

“Yeah, man. It’s me,” he pants and tries to catch his breath. “Dude, you scared the crap out of me.”

“I could say the same about you,” Keith replies, but if he’s spooked, it doesn’t show. His face is eerily calm.

“I’ve been looking for you for like an hour, man! I kept calling you over the comms, and you never responded.”

“Oh,” Keith says, casting a sideways glance to his own helmet, on the ground a few feet away. His eyebrows fold in. “Sorry, I got...distracted.”

“Uh, yeah. Okay.” It’s strange because as long as Lance has known him, Keith has been nothing less than 100% alert at all times. Bold and brash, sure, but he knows his surroundings, always planning for what can bite him. How he can bite back.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“Sure,” Lance says, unconvinced but for once unwilling to argue about it. “Listen, I just want to get out of here. This place is awful.”

Keith hums in agreement. “There’s just one more place I want to check out before we go.”

“Fine.” If that’s what it takes to get back to the surface, so be it. “We should stay close. I need to retrieve the data I was downloading, so wait for me.”

But Keith is already turning away. “That’s all right. You can head back up without me. I’ll be okay.”

“Keith!” Lance shouts, grasping Keith’s wrist before he can take another step. He feels Keith startle beneath his hand. “We stick together.”

The desperation in his voice must give Keith pause. “Lance?”

“Together,” he repeats, his grip tightening until Keith nods, allowing himself to be dragged in the other direction.

 

* * *

 

The sun is high in the sky. It brands itself on the back of Keith’s neck and down the bridge of his nose as he hands out bottled water out of the back of a Marmoran cruiser. _Should have brought sunscreen_ , he thinks with a wince. The other members of the Blade don’t need it, both due to their resistance to extreme temperatures and their activated body suits, not wanting to frighten the locals with their Galran appearance.

Keith would be in his suit too if it weren’t for the nature of the mission. He has to be here in his armor, the recognizable face of a paladin of Voltron. The Earth needs a hero now, as much as the rest of the universe - someone to put their hope in, something they can believe. Keith knows this. He’s still not ready to be the kind of leader that Shiro was and still is, but this much he can do.

There are other members of the Garrison here too, mostly people Keith doesn’t recognize. He wonders if they brought lotion but feels too awkward to ask.

Growing up in Texas, living in the desert, Keith thought he was used to hot summer days, but the dry heat of his former home doesn’t compare to the tropical climate of Colombia’s rainy season. As much as he’s grown tired of Lance’s whining, he has to agree, the week has been kinda miserable.

Things have been tense between him and Lance too, ever since the recon mission in the mines. Truth be told, he can’t explain what happened. One minute, he was sweeping the room for intelligence or any remaining threats, and the next, he was frozen in time, only snapping back to when Lance grabbed his shoulder.

There’s something that’s been building inside him for a while now. Since the ambush in the old Marmoran base? Since he joined the Blade? Before that, when he proved himself in the trials? After his first run in with the druids at that quintessence plant? Maybe even as far back as the first time he felt the Blue lion’s call - Keith doesn’t know, but he too often feels like a glass of water at capacity, like one wrong move could break the meniscus formed at its rim. Surface tension, Keith thinks, and the comparison feels appropriate.

But as usual, if it’s not a problem he can hold at knifepoint, he chooses to ignore it. Forcefully. To flee in the opposite direction.

He watches as Lance, over the course of the afternoon, strips out of his top armor, then the legs, and then, in a fit of exasperation, unzips the back of his suit and ties the arms around his waist. He looks ridiculous, like a convict playing basketball in the prison yard. It makes Keith snicker.

“What?” Lance asks, voice shrill, cheeks flushed. The front of his hair is damp with sweat and sticking up at odd angles from where he’s tried to slick it back. “We’re practically straddling the equator!”

“Whatever you say,” Keith says with a smirk, but he eventually sheds his armor too. It helps a little.

He was surprised when Lance chose to come with him on this mission, but it was the most logical option. Matt and the rebel forces went to lend aid in Finland, so of course Pidge wanted to go with her brother. Hunk and the Balmerans followed suit. Two paladins here, two paladins there. Shiro stayed behind to run operations at the Garrison, and so did Allura, to watch over their mysterious Altean adversary.

“ _Guess I’m with Keith_ ,” Lance had said, no emotion behind the words. Of course, he would have rather stayed back with Allura or traveled with Hunk and Pidge, his friends. Keith tried not to let it bother him.

After this, they would move on to Korea, and Pidge and Hunk would fly to the Galra facility in South Africa. The plan was to meet in Australia, and by then, supposedly, Atlas would be ready to take to space. His own anticipation to get back into battle brings guilt because he knows the others don’t want to leave their families again. Hunk most of all. It’s selfish of him to want at the others’ expense.

In the evening, Lance abandons his dinner duties, to play a pickup game of _fútbol_ with a group of children. They all seem so excited about it, chattering in a language Keith doesn’t understand. He can’t bring himself to scold Lance for it.

Instead, in time, Keith finds himself approaching the gaggle of flailing limbs and laughter. It’s a fact that he’s generally bad with people, even worse with children, but this is a diplomatic mission, right? They’re here to be the face of Voltron, to give people hope. Lance gets it, Keith realizes, in a way that he doesn’t

“Keith!” Lance shouts, grinning ear to ear, causing other children to shout, repeating his name in shrill voices, “ _Keith!_ ” He feels his face warm with the attention.

“H-hey.”

A little boy, no more than seven years old, comes up and tugs on his pant leg. Without his lion or the castle nearby, Keith can’t interpret his enthusiastic speech.

“He wants to know what lion you fly,” Lance’s voice comes warm at his side. “Their dialect is a little different, but it’s not too hard to figure out.”

“Oh,” Keith starts, racking his brain for the Spanish vocab he barely retained from elementary school. “N-negro, uh. La cabeza?”

The words must make sense because the boy claps his hands and proceeds to launch himself onto Keith’s back.

“Whoa.” Keith teeters before catching his balance.

“I think he wants you to be on his team,” Lance explains. “Hey, _Mullet_ , bet I can dribble circles around you.”

Keith thinks he’s probably right, has no experience playing soccer, but it’s been a while since Lance has challenged him to a competition. It feels normal, natural. And Keith is rarely one to back down from a fight.

“You’re on.”

 

* * *

 

When the sun sets, they lie in sleeping bags outside the Blade cruiser and look at the stars. The mosquitos are out, they really should go inside, but the air is cool now, and Lance feels as close to happy as he’s been this entire trip. He’s finally able to see the help they’re doing here, the difference they’re making, even if it’s just to a group of rambunctious kids. Plus, he totally  _creamed_ Keith in their makeshift match. What isn’t to enjoy?

Keith is quiet beside him, but Lance hopes its a contented silence rather than brooding. He thinks about bringing up what happened in the mine but doesn’t want to ruin things just yet. _Let’s keep the peace_ , he decides. Even if it’s just for tonight.

“So, how’s your Korean?” he asks instead.

“Uh, nonexistent,” Keith deadpans. “How’s yours?”

“Hey, it was a reasonable question!” Lance says in a huff because it’s in his nature to be on the defensive when it comes to Keith.

“I was born in Texas, and so was my dad. His parents barely taught him any of the language. Thought it would make it easier for him to assimilate I guess.”

“Huh,” Lance says. He realizes that Keith has never told him anything about his father. Or his mother for that matter, even though Krolia has been part of their group for a while now. “Hey, do you ever...get the feeling that we don’t know each other very well?”

It’s kind of a loaded question, and Keith stays silent so long that Lance almost doesn’t expect him to respond. “I think that,” he finally says, “I’m probably not a very easy person to get to know.”

_That’s an understatement_. Lance wants to roll his eyes. The thought is a little too mean to voice. “Then let’s make a wager. To become better teammates before the mission is over.”

Keith frowns. “I don’t think we’re bad teammates. Do you think that?”

“No!” Lance says defensively, again. _Sometimes_. _But...not anymore?_ “Better friends then.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Keith says, and Lance winces. So much for keeping the peace. “If this is about what happened earlier-”

“It’s not!” he panics.

“And if something is bothering you, or I make a decision in battle that you don’t like, just give it to me straight.” Keith turns to look Lance in the eye. “I’m getting better at listening. And I trust your opinion.”

_I trust your opinion_. The words enter through his ears like bubbles that burst pridefully inside his chest. That’s all he’s wanted since they switched lions. To be useful. To be someone who can be trusted.

“That means a lot. Really,” Lance says in earnest. “I guess the truth is, I’ve been kind of lonely.”

“ _You?_ Lonely?”

Lance tries not to take offense. “I don’t know. After you left to work with the Blade, things got weird. Allura was spending all this time with Lotor. Hunk and Pidge were doing their science thing. Shiro was, well. You know how he was.”

“Lance,” Keith says softly, “That was  _over a year_ _ago_.”

“So?” Lance grouses, rolling onto his other side, away from Keith. “Is that your way of telling me to get over it?”

“Come on, that’s not what I meant. You know I’m terrible at words. Just give me a second.” Lance huffs but waits for Keith to compose his thoughts.

Keith sighs, “What I meant was, you’ve been feeling this way for that long?”

“Oh.” It’s a strange revelation, but what Keith says rings true. He has been feeling alone for that long, maybe even longer. Homesick, but also insecure, unsure of his place at the Garrison let alone on Team Voltron. His place in _the universe_.

Keith taps his shoulder, and Lance reluctantly turns back to face him. “You’re not a fifth wheel, remember?” And Lance does. Every second of his despairing confession and Keith’s clumsy words of reassurance.

He chuckles, a little self-pitying. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Not a seventh wheel either.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“I want all of us to be friends,” Keith says. Lance can’t tell if he’s flushed from embarrassment or the sun. “I just never expected it, I guess. I know I don’t make it easy on any of you.”

“Doesn’t have to be easy to be worthwhile,” says Lance. He’s not too proud to believe that a person as cool as Keith deserves a little effort.

“Plus, I tried before, and you pretended that it never happened.”

“ _Keith_ ,” Lance teases, can’t help himself. Of course it will always come back to their failed bonding moment. “That was  _ages ago_.”

“Shut up!” Keith launches a pillow into his face, and it kind of hurts because its stiff in the way that everything belonging to the Blade of Marmora is, but Lance just keeps laughing.

Yeah, they’ll be friends. Lance wants to know that when this war is over, if they all survive it, they won’t lose contact. Hunk, Pidge, Keith, Shiro, Allura, and Coran - they’ll all come visit his family home. They’ll surf the waves of Varadero beach and eat homemade garlic knots in the sand.

In the distant future, he’ll visit Keith and his mom and heck, maybe Lotor’s ex-general will be with him, and they’ll have a bunch of weird, alien children together. Weirder things have happened.

 

* * *

 

Korea is a lot different from Colombia, Keith comes to find. The mild temperature is an obvious difference, but the crowds are quieter too. The mine here appears to be a little smaller, less people affected by the forced labor. Their structures are more or less intact, unlike those surrounding the Garrison. It’s a relief, but Keith knows they were still traumatized by the invasion, so they do what they can to assist in rebuilding the surrounding communities.

It’s a shame they don’t have more time. There are so many countries they won’t be able to visit in person, so many people they won’t be able to help before it’s time to confront Haggar and whatever army she’s built in all this time. It bothers him, and he knows it bothers Lance. At night, he sees Lance scrolling through international news feeds on his tablet.

Because the work is slower, Keith finds himself with more free time, most of which he uses to train. Sometimes it’s on his own, and sometimes with his mother. Sword forms, hand to hand, and then just basics - push ups, sit ups, planks. Running laps around whatever town or city they’re stationed in for the day. He wants to stay strong, doesn’t want to become complacent while they’re out of combat. The Blade cruiser that most of the members are traveling in only has a small gym, and Keith finds himself missing the training room on the castleship, in all its high-tech glory.

He’s sparring with his mother one day, and she keeps pinning him over and over again. For some reason, it’s been difficult to focus.

“Something is wrong,” Krolia infers. “What is on your mind?”

It’s easy to talk to Krolia because they’re both blunt, compatible in their lack of tact. Keith appreciates that about their still fragile but ever-evolving relationship. In weaker moments, usually lying sleepless in the dark, he wonders how he would have turned out if they had been a normal family - Keith and two parents who love him and who never leave.

“Me,” he admits, sheepish. “Just thinking about how I can be a better leader. What I can improve on before we face Haggar.”

“Well,” says Krolia, sending a jab to Keith’s solar plexus that he barely manages to block. “Usually, your skills in hand-to-hand combat are quite impressive. I am very proud.”

“Thanks.” Keith blushes. He’s still not used to her affection, curt as it may be.

It’s nice, he thinks - the love of a mother. Growing up, the concept seemed too foreign to imagine. And Keith loves her back in his own way, but there’s still a part of him that feels like he doesn’t truly know her. Her likes and dislikes, how she was raised, or what she would be doing if there wasn’t an intergalactic war to fight.

Maybe Lance was right. Aside from Shiro, he’s never really shared that level of intimacy with anyone. Maybe he isn’t someone who can be known, or who can take the time to know others.

Krolia’s palm connects with Keith’s jaw, and he feels himself spiraling backwards, only just managing to stay on his feet. She apologizes, but he waves her off. His fault.

“Keith. You’re still inside your own head.”

“I know.” He gets back into fighting stance. “A few weeks ago, Lance said something. I don’t think he feels like we’re good teammates. Or friends? Maybe both.”

They trade a few more blows until Krolia gets him in a headlock that he can’t break. “And Lance?” she asks, “His opinion matters to you?”

“I…” Keith strains under the pressure of her arm against his throat. “I guess it does. He’s talked me out of some rough situations before.”

“He has good judgement?”

“Sometimes,” he chuckles as Krolia finally lets him go. “At least when it counts.”

“Then perhaps it is a problem you will have to solve together,” she surmises. “I’m afraid that I don’t have much valuable advice to give. Most of my time in the Blade of Marmora was spent undercover, in isolation. Those I worked with were associates, not friends.”

“It’s okay,” Keith says. Shiro would know exactly what to say. Keith misses him. Maybe it wouldn’t be too much trouble to give him a call.

“Or,” Krolia says, taking up her blade. “You could always settle it in battle.”

 

* * *

 

Ever since their conversation in Colombia, Lance has gotten the feeling that Keith’s been avoiding him. So it comes as a surprise when he’s invited to train one-on-one.

“It’s a been a while since we sparred,” is all Keith gives as explanation, but Lance is content to follow along. That’s how he finds himself on a hill outside the town of Taebaek. The land here is mountainous, unsteady. Not great for training, but beautiful to look at. It’s just him and Keith and their bayards here. No armor, opting for street clothes and joggers.

“So, I was thinking hand to hand first?”

Lance shrugs. “Whatever you want, dude.”

They get into position, circle a few times, and then Keith snaps forward with a leg to the Lance’s right hip. He skids a bit in the grass but manages to keep his balance and counters with flat palm to Keith’s chest. Hand-to-hand isn’t Lance’s strong suit. He’s okay with close quarters when he has his rifle, but he’s better at long distance. It’s an appealing idea to be at the center of battle, guns-a-blazing, but in practice, Lance prefers range and time to strategize.

But Keith is the opposite. Punch first and ask questions later. And he’s fast, so fast. He dodges, parries, and weaves with a level of grace that Lance has trouble following. _And_ he’s ambidextrous, which means his attacks are hard to predict. _Some guys have all the luck_ , Lance bemoans, struggling to hold his ground. It’s only been a handful of minutes.

“Tired already?” Keith says, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. At least he’s winded. At least Lance accomplished that much.

“Not a chance,” he lies, surging forward with kick that’s meant to sweep Keith off his feet. It only manages to knock him off-kilter, but it does give Lance the chance to land a lucky blow to Keith’s cheek.

After that, his moves start to get sloppier, failing to connect. Finally, Keith puts his shoulder to Lance’s, uses the leverage to _flip_ over Lance’s back, and then from behind pulls Lance’s arm back and over his head.

“Yield?” Keith asks, not entirely _un-smug_.

“Never,” Lance says, but in his mind, he already gave up, like, five minutes ago. From this position, left arm pointed skyward and face toward the ground, bent over at the waist, there isn’t much Lance can do to. “Okay, yes. I yield.”

He lets his legs give out and falls face first in the grass, bringing Keith with him. Their heads collide, and Lance hears Keith curse.

Maybe it’s just the head trauma, but the minute Keith spends sprawled over Lance’s back feels kind of nice. Grounded and warm. Also maybe short on oxygen.

“Don’t tell me you knocked yourself out,” says Keith against the back of his neck.

“Did not,” says Lance, black dots blooming in and out of his vision. Keith slowly rolls off and stands, turning Lance over on his back in a position that makes breathing a little easier.

“Jesus, Lance,” Keith huffs. “Was that worth it?”

Lance looks up, sees the comical imprint of collision on Keith’s forehead, red against the already blistered skin of Keith’s sunburn, and grins. “Absolutely.”

He wonders what Hunk and Pidge are doing in whatever country they’re visiting now. Probably not beating each other up on an empty plot of land. And Allura. Has she been able to speak with the strange Altean, the one that was almost powerful enough to take down Voltron?

In this fight against the Galra, there are so many loose threads, like every enemy they face is a piece of rope, unraveling without the other ends in sight. Defeating Zarkon becomes defeating Lotor becomes defeating Sendak. And now Haggar. Who’s to say there won’t be someone after her? Keith can train all he wants, but will it ever be enough to win a war that’s lasted _millennia?_

They take time to rest and hydrate. Lance presses the chilled bottle to the back of his head. _Ah_. He thinks that they must be done until Keith says, “Round two?”

“Seriously?” Lance whines. “You want to fight against someone who’s wounded? C’mon, Keith. I’m concussed!”

Keith scoffs, “Are not.”

“I could be,” says Lance, but he stands up. “Why are we doing this anyway?”

“My mom said I have to best you in battle.”

_“What?”_

Keith just snickers to himself, a private guffaw at what must be some kind of bizarre inside joke between mother and son. _What the quiznak, Keith? Secrets are no fun!_

“You’re nuts,” Lance says, but Keith just smiles. It’s a rare sighting.

“Guess we should probably stick with hand-to-hand for now. Next time I can bring some wooden swords. I mean, if you want to train again.” The smile fades. “It’s nice to face a variety of opponents.”

“Or we could sword fight now,” Lance says, suddenly energized. _Oh man, Keith isn’t gonna believe this._

“I’m not letting you touch my blade,” says Keith, placing a protective over the holster on his belt. Lance shakes his head.

“I don’t want your emo blade.” He says, and scrambles for his bayard in the grass. “Hey, Samurai. Wanna see something _real_ crazy?

Lance focuses his energy at the weapon in hand, uses the mental image to materialize what he wants: the Altean broadsword. It’s even heavier than he remembers, unwieldy, but he holds it high and proud.

Keith gapes, mouth open, eyebrows nearly grazing his hairline. As reactions go, it’s priceless, everything Lance could have hoped for and more. He bursts into laughter.

“Oh man. Oh man, I wish I could have gotten a picture. Or a video, even better. I wish the others were here to see the look on your face. Aw, jeez.” He wheezes. “Maybe I should have saved it.”

Keith doesn’t respond to the teasing. “Since when do you have a _sword?_ ”

Lance shrugs, nonchalant. “Since a while.” Not that he’s used it for anything outside of training in the past, but Keith doesn’t need to know that.

He hoped Allura would show him some basics back when it first appeared to him, but she was distracted by...things. Lance didn’t like to think about it. He and Allura were on much better terms now, maybe even _really good_ terms. It was sometimes hard to tell. Every time he started to give up on winning her romantic affections, she’d turn around and give him a hug or say something fond or blush. It’s like they were two puzzle pieces ramming together at different angles and speeds, unable to find a perfect fit.

“Guess I missed a lot,” Keith says, eyes cast downward.

Once, Lance might taken the opportunity to admonish Keith for the way he left things back then. Departing from the team in a way that felt like abandonment. But now, he senses that it’s a sore spot for Keith, one that doesn’t deserve continual probing. “Honestly, most of it was worth missing. You know, with the ‘sleeping with the enemy’ kinda vibes and all.”

“Sounds like it.”

“Not the sword though. Definitely not worth missing this. Feast your eyes!” he exclaims, swinging in a clumsy, chopping motion.

“Very impressive,” Keith says dryly. Lance would like to believe it’s half-serious and only half-mocking.

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m feeling generous today, and therefore, open to critique.”

“Well, it’s a good thing _I’m_ feeling generous and open to giving advice,” Keith responds, and the smile is back. Lance will consider it a victory.

 

* * *

 

As it turns out, Krolia was kind of right. Things between him and Lance have been better since they sparred, and now, it’s become routine. Keith gets up early for a run, and sometimes Lance joins him, though he whines about missing out on beauty sleep along the way. They practice sword forms in the afternoon and serve rations at dinner.

Maybe, Keith thinks, it’s easier to communicate with Lance through actions than words. It seems like when they speak, everything gets turned into a pointed jab. Referencing things without _saying_ them outright, a running tally of each other’s failings.

Training for battle together puts them on the same page. Gives them...what is it? _A common goal._ Keith feels a Shiro lecture floating around somewhere in his brain but can’t quite grasp it.

He wonders what the others will need from him as a leader, how he can become better teammates to them as well.

He knows that Hunk likes encouragement and physical affection. Lance appreciates competition and the chance to gain skills that will prove useful to the team. But what about the others? What about Pidge? And Allura? What do they need? Hugs and hand-to-hand don’t seem like the right answer for either of them.

This is probably where communication comes in handy.

And then he wonders about Shiro. Is there anything Keith can give him? It’s been a worry of his for a long time, ever since he was young. Feeling like a parasite, just siphoning Shiro’s wisdom, Shiro’s guidance, and offering nothing in return. But still, Shiro keeps _believing_ in him. And that belief, too, is a gift. One that Keith sometimes wants to refuse.

It’s probably time they move on to Australia, to the site where the last cannon was built. Keith wonders if Hunk, and Pidge, and Matt’s rebels are there yet. He’s surprised that Lance hasn’t spoken to any of them since they left the Garrison.

Lance gives excuses. _They’re probably busy._ But Keith doesn’t get it. When they’re together, things seem fine enough. What happened to make Lance so unsure? So hesitant? And it’s not like they’ve reached out to Lance and Keith either.

Until today. The call comes in from Matt, staticky and brief. _“We’re in Queensland!”_ There’s lots of noise in the background. Yelling and the sound of lasers firing. _“There’s a group of Galra trying to stage a rebellion! Get here as soon as you can!”_

In their lions, Keith and Lance arrive quickly, and soon, they’re in the midst of chaos.

“About time you showed up!” Pidge yells, fighting off a number of sentries with her bayard set to electro-shock. There are turrets guarding the surrounding area, and Hunk works to disable them.

_We’ll win,_ Keith can already tell with certainty, based on numbers alone. For the Galra, this is a last-ditch effort to preserve some dignity, unwilling to accept defeat. Victory or death, right?

The priority now is keeping the citizens safe, many of whom have been caught in the fray. That’s why they can’t use their lions to fight - the risk of casualties is too high with that much firepower.

It’s a long battle, grueling on the body and on the nerves. The Galra keep using civilians as shields, so Keith and Pidge go in close, and Lance finds higher ground to cover them with his rifle. Even though his aim is near perfect, Keith knows it’s hard to get a clean shot in a crowd like this.

What Lance _can_ do is provide directions.

_“On your left, Keith.”_ Lance voice comes in through his helmet, and Keith ducks to stab a charging soldier in the stomach before he can swing an axe over Keith’s head.

“Thanks.”

“Hey, can I get a little help over here?” calls Pidge. There’s one Galra soldier tied up with her bayard on the right, but she’s trying to kick two sentries on her left at the same time.

“ _Incoming on your six,_ ” Lance reports, and Keith turns to see another soldier heading his way. “ _Pidge, you have to get away from those sentries, or I can’t get a clean shot._ ”

“I’m trying,” Pidge says, finally knocking one off its feet. Lance shoots it before it fully hits the ground.

“ _Just one more_.”

“I’ve got it,” Keith says, unholstering his luxite blade and throwing it at the sentry’s chest. It connects, and in the same second, he raises his bayard to block the attack behind him.

“ _Dual wielding_ ,” Lance breathes. “ _Nice_ ,” and Keith hears Pidge giggle. Half of Keith wants to tell them to focus, but he knows it’s moments of levity like this that keep the energy high.

By the time the Blade of Marmora arrives, they have enough soldiers on the ground to quash whatever resistance is left. In the end, none of the paladins are harmed, and only minor injuries are sustained by civilians and a few rebel scouts.

“Thank goodness!” Hunk cries, running down to meet Keith and Pidge at the entrance of the mine. “I was so worried back there.”

“Thanks for taking care of the turrets, Hunk. It was big help,” Keith says. “You too, Pidge. I’m glad you were at my side.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Pidge brushes off the praise. “Happy to assist. Hey, Lance, where did you end up?”

“ _Up here_ ,” Lance says over the comms. Keith sees only his hand waving from an open window four stories up.

“Hiding?” Pidge jokes.

“ _Excuse you. Helping_.”

“We’re going in for recon, Lance,” says Keith, peering into the mine. It seems like most of the prisoners were already out, but some could still be trapped underground. “You can stay up top to set up triage with Kolivan.”

“ _Roger that, Team Leader._ ”

The three paladins lead Matt, Shay, and a handful of Blade members underground where dozens of prisoners are still held. Some are still chained to work benches, others behind bars.

“They’re scientists,” Pidge says.  _Like my dad_ goes unsaid. Keith can see an uncanny resemblance to the situation Sam Holt faced, forced to use his intelligence for the enemy.

They’re all emaciated, underfed and overworked. No matter what country or planet they’re on, no matter how many lives they save, it never gets easier to see the devastation that the Galra leave in their wake.

“There’s one more in the back. In solitary confinement, ” says a man with a scraggly beard and a voice that sounds strangely like Coran’s.

“American military,” another pipes in. “Kept trying to escape.”

“I’ll go,” Keith says, wondering how an American ended up out here. Could they be from the Garrison? Or maybe just a soldier stationed in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The door to solitary confinement is heavy and padlocked. Keith knocks and informs the prisoner that rescue is here and to stay away from the door, just in case he has to use explosives.

It takes time to hack away at all the locks with his blade, but they all come free, and Keith is able to pry the door from its hinges. It comes crashing down with an echoing thud.

“Are you all right?” Keith asks, peering into the darkness. There’s a single mattress on the floor and a hole dug in the dirt that must serve as a makeshift latrine.

A man sits in the corner of the room, knees pulled up under his chin, arms crossed defensively. He has light brown hair grown past his shoulders and a pair of crooked glasses drooping down his nose

“You’re safe now,” Keith says. “I’m a paladin of Voltron. My name is-”

“Oh my god. Keith?”

The prisoner looks into Keith’s eyes, and Keith realizes two things at the same time. Number one, the man is wearing the uniform of a Garrison officer, ragged though it may be. And number two, Keith _knows_ this man.

“ _Adam?_ ”

 

* * *

 

Keith is sitting under a tent at the bedside of a prisoner he personally carried up from the mine, slung over his back. Lance knows he’s openly staring, but he can’t help it. They talk like they know each other, and weird emotions keep playing across Keith’s face. Eyes wide with concern, then forehead wrinkled. Lowered brows and down-turned lips, crossing his arms and looking away.

Lance wishes he could lip-read. It would _so_ come in handy during stealth missions, hand-in-hand with his skills as a sniper.

“Hunk, how hard do you think it is to learn to read lips?”

“Stop staring at them, you creep,” Pidge says. She’s sitting in the dirt, tinkering with a heart monitor.

“Or you could just go over there and introduce yourself,” Hunk suggests. He doesn’t look up from the splint he’s wrapping around a rebel scout’s wrist, always fixing things, whether man or machine.

Lance ignores them. “Wasn’t that guy an instructor during our first year?”

Pidge squints and says, “I feel like I saw him walking around with Shiro and Matt. Before Kerberos. Why, did you take a class with him?”

Lance shakes his head. He doesn’t think Keith did either - they were in all the same classes back then. Before Keith moved up to fighter pilot and Lance got left behind.

“I think he was the TA in one of my first-year physics courses,” says Hunk. “Could be wrong though. It’s hard to tell with the long hair and stubble.”

Lance hums, continuing to stare. It isn’t until hours later that he’s able to corner Keith who is either training or letting out his frustrations, kicking the thick trunk of a bottle tree over and over again.

“Oh, hey, Lance,” Keith greets. His bangs are damp with sweat, face red from exertion. “Wanna spar?”

“Nope. Wanna talk.”

“About?” Keith asks, but he can probably guess what it is Lance wants to know. He may be dense, but he’s not dumb.

“Who’s the guy?” Keith doesn’t answer right away, so Lance presses harder. “The one from the Garrison.”

“He’s an officer,” Keith says. “A pilot and an engineer. His name is Adam.”

“And?” Lance says. “Come on, Keith. You guys must know each other.”

Keith glares. “Why do you wanna know?”

“Just do,” Lance squeaks, and now he’s nervous. Why would Keith dodgy about such a simple question. Did they, like, smoke weed together after class? Was Adam part of the reason Keith was kicked out the Garrison? Were they involved in some kind of illicit student-teacher affair? All of the teen-melodrama scenarios run circles around his head.

“Fine,” Keith says, giving up. By now, he’s learned that it’s easier to give into Lance than to try to fight, a skill Lance has been carefully crafting his whole life. His argument endurance is unmatched. “I can tell you’re getting carried away.”

“Then explain.”

“Okay. He and Shiro used to date.”

And of all the answers Lance was preparing for, this wasn’t anywhere on the list. “Um...what?”

“They were boyfriends,” says Keith, speaking slowly as if that will help Lance process this unexpected information.

“Again, _what?”_

“Actually,” Keith mutters, glaring at the bottle tree now, lower lip tucked between his teeth. “He was Shiro’s fiancé.”

“ _Fiancé?!”_

“Keep it down!” Keith scolds, even though there’s no one else around.

“Sorry,” says Lance, mind reeling. Shiro? Their friend and leader, that Shiro? Had a secret fiancé that he never mentioned? And Lance was supposed to be totally chill about it? “I’m just...surprised.”

“What,” Keith deadpans, “that Shiro is gay?”

“ _No_ ,” he says indignantly, although, _yes_. That is part of it. “More that he was in a relationship and never, I don’t know, mentioned it to _any_ _of us?”_

“They’re ex-fiancés,” Keith says grimly. “And things didn’t exactly end well.”

Suddenly, the emotions Keith was expressing make sense. Concern, anger, and deeper still, resentment. “Did Adam, like, have an affair? Because that would be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” Shiro is godlike, the catch of a lifetime. Cheating on him would be like Jay-Z and Beyoncé times ten.

“Lance,” Keith says, in a way that means _Lance, you’re exhausting me._ He gets that a lot. “Adam didn’t cheat. It’s complicated.”

“Well there’s obviously a reason that you hate the guy.”

Keith sighs. “I don’t _hate_ him.” He turns to the tree and gives it a final, resolute kick. “Listen. I don’t know if I should be telling you this, but I’m going to because I know you won’t shut up about it otherwise.

Lance nods, glad they’re on the same page.

“Before Shiro was even an officer,” Keith starts, “he was diagnosed with an illness that affected his muscular system. I only found out about it right before the Kerberos mission. He hid it from everyone except Adam and the Garrison higher ups. It was a slow progression, but still. He only had a few more years at his physical peak before he would be deemed unfit for active duty.”

Lance feels his heart squeeze tight. _Shiro_. The cruelties of the universe really were endless. The best pilot of their generation, being told that someday, he could never fly? What commander or doctor or _illness_ could ever dare limit that potential?

“Don’t cry,” Keith says, sounding horrified, and Lance becomes aware that his eyes are clenched as tight as his chest.

“I’m not crying,” he denies.

“You’re making a face.”

“This is how I always looks,” Lance sniffs, blinking rapidly. “See? No tears.”

Keith seems unconvinced of Lance’s restraint, but he continues to explain how Shiro got the opportunity to go on the Kerberos mission, how it might have been his only shot. How it put a strain on his and Adam’s relationship once he decided to accept. Adam considered the mission too dangerous and gave Shiro an ultimatum. And Shiro made his choice.

“I guess Adam was right in the end,” Lance says, “about the danger.”

“But who could have predicted _that?”_ Keith spits. “Adam shouldn’t have put Shiro in that position.”

“He was worried. He probably hoped it would be enough to convince Shiro to stay.”

“He abandoned him!” says Keith, a boy who’s so intimately familiar with abandonment, he’s started to facilitate it. Cut off the limbs before they can take root. Ditch the unnecessary cargo, toss it overboard before the crew decides to get rid of you first.

_Keith, Keith. Always running,_ Lance thinks time and again. _Where are you going? Don’t you get tired? Don’t you deserve a place to rest?_

“So I don’t hate Adam,” Keith says. “I’m just...still angry about what happened back then.” He sits down at the base of the tree, quiet, picking at his nails. “And I guess I was jealous of him for a while. I didn’t really have anyone confide in except Shiro, and I wanted him all to myself.”

Lance, acutely understanding the desire for attention, says, “I get it.”

Then Keith, redder than the lion Lance flies, blurts, “Don’t tell Shiro I said that, okay?”

“I won’t,” Lance promises. What started as nosy curiosity led to new knowledge, not only about Shiro but Keith too. It’s a step in the right direction.

But there’s still one more thing.

“How are we gonna tell Shiro?” Lance asks, and Keith, groaning, buries his head in his hands.

 

* * *

 

They decide as a group, all the paladins, Matt, and Adam too, that they won’t give Shiro a heads up on his ex-fiancé’s arrival. Adam tells them that he wants to, _needs_ to apologize in person. Even Keith can’t refuse him that.

And now they’re docking at the Garrison, and Keith is out of his mind with panic, a giant alarm bell taking up the space where his brain should be. _Mayday! We’re fucked!_

One look at Lance’s face as they exit their lions tells him he’s not alone in this fear. Make that two paladins on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Three, if you count Hunk, whose anxiety never needs an excuse to get riled up.

“Shiro’s gonna kill me,” Keith moans. They’re huddled up around a conference table after the tensest debrief of his young life. Everyone kept sending them odd looks the entire time, especially Shiro.

“Or the shock is going to kill Shiro,” Lance says, so _not_ helpful. “Neither of which are good options.”

“Aw, j _eez._ ” Hunk is pale, hands shaking against the table, a mirror image of how Keith feels on the inside.

“You guys need to pull it together,” Pidge rebukes, fed up with the lot of them, but Keith is so far past the point of no return. _Killing Sendak_ was a piece of cake in comparison.

He stands quickly, knocking his chair down in his haste, but before he can bolt, Lance has a hold of his hand.

“Ah, ah, ah. Not today, you escape artist.” Lance’s eyes are ringed with purple, bloodshot and wild. Neither of them slept at all last night, running laps around the campsite until they couldn’t run anymore. Pacing after that.

“This is worse than when you had space madness,” says Pidge, slapping her palm to the table in frustration. “I hope you’re both aware.”

“Lance, what am I going to say to him?”

“Say to who?”

Four heads spin around at once. It would be funny if Keith wasn’t so scared. Shiro is standing in the doorway, composed as ever.

“Keith,” he says gently, “what’s wrong?”

Keith feels Lance squeeze his hand, didn’t realize they were still touching, and takes a breath. “Shiro. You know we all love you.”

“This doesn’t sound good,” Shiro says, but it’s a feeble attempt at a tease. Any reasonable person would be concerned.

“Nothing is _wrong_. We found...something important on our mission. I’m sorry that we didn’t tell you earlier, but we agreed that it would be better to do in person. Would you sit down?”

And credit to Shiro who, as confused as he is, complies.

Keith sits next to him, puts a grounding hand to his shoulder, and says, “We found Adam. Shiro. He’s alive.”

The silence is thunderous. No one dares to breathe. Shiro is staring new holes into Keith’s retinas, and it _burns_. _Please don’t hate me_ , he silently begs.

“But the reports,” says Shiro.

“He reports were wrong. Adam’s plane was shot down, but he survived. The Galra captured him and made him build their cannons.”

Shiro closes his eyes, inhales through his nose, out through his mouth. Keith knows what he’s doing, knows Shiro better than he knows anyone. _Patience yields focus._

“I know you wouldn’t lie to me,” Shiro says. “It’s just...difficult to wrap my head around.”

“Do you want to see him?” Keith asks. He doesn’t know whether to hope for a yes or a no.

“Now?”

Keith bobs his head. “Only if you’re ready.” He waits for Shiro to nod back. “Matt?”

Matt, waiting at the back of the room for his cue, steps outside. When he returns, he’s supporting Adam with an arm around his waist. Adam is still thin and weak, but his hair is back to its usual length and his face clean shaven.

Shiro’s gasp as Matt sits Adam in the chair beside him will stay with Keith for the rest of his life.

“I know I look...different,” is the first thing Shiro says. It surprises Keith. He didn’t realize Shiro was so self-conscious about the way his time in space had changed him physically.

“You look beautiful,” Adam responds, and that’s when Shiro begins to cry.

Keith says something about giving them a moment, and they all stand quickly, exiting into the hallway to give the ex-couple some privacy.

Hunk is the first one to pull Keith in for a hug. Then Lance steps in, his chest warm against Keith’s back. Pidge situates herself at his side.

“See? That wasn’t so bad,” she says, trying for bravery, but her runny nose kind of ruins the intended effect. Matt is there to ruffle his fingers through her hair.

“You did great,” Lance whispers, and Keith’s vision blurs.

“Now” Pidge commands as they separate, “go the fuck to sleep.” Matt reprimands her language. Lance sticks out his tongue. Hunk picks up Pidge before she can try to lunge at Lance. Her limbs flail through the air. All is right with the world.

As much as Keith wants to stick around for Shiro’s sake, Pidge is right. Anything he says or does now will be useless. His frantic energy is drained. Keith treks back to his room, and falls face first onto the mattress. He sleeps like the dead.

 

* * *

 

The first time Lance sees Allura after the two months he’s been away, they’re sitting around a conference table. He smiles at her, and she smiles at him in the way they do now. They don’t get to talk, and he isn’t really able to appreciate the experience of staring at her across the room what with the sleep deprivation and all.

After sleeping for sixteen hours straight, Lance tries to find her again. He checks the room she was given at the Garrison, the mess hall, and aboard the Atlas which is bustling with activity. No luck.

In their debrief meeting, Sam Holt confirmed that the Atlas would be ready to deploy in less than three weeks’ time. Just a few more tweaks to the teladuv were needed, according to Coran. It would be nice to travel by way of wormhole again, rather than floating in space for months on end.

It’s a shame that there’s so much going on at the Garrison now - meetings, strategy sessions, training exercises. Because of that, Lance doesn’t have much time left to spend with his family, but it doesn’t devastate him as much as he might have expected.

The years he was away were hard because he didn’t know when he would return, if he would ever see his family again, if they would spend the rest of their lives wondering what happened to him the night he disappeared.

Their reunion wasn’t under the best of circumstances, and Lance would probably always feel guilty about everything that occurred on Earth while they were away, but being back is still a miracle. Getting to hug his mom again is worth every injury he sustained in space, every close call and near-death experience.

He doesn’t want to let anything taint that moment. Not all the things he’s missed while he was gone - the death of his _abuelita_ , his brother Marco’s wedding, his niece and nephew’s first days at school. Not all the ways Lance has grown and changed from the teenager they once knew. Not the terror his family endured at the hands of the enemy he was supposed to defeat.

Things between Lance and his family are good but...awkward. It’s like picking up your bike again after years of it gathering dust in the garage and finding a motorcycle instead. _You can never forget_ , people say. A bike is a bike. But while the frame might be the same, a change in mechanics can make a big difference in how comfortable you feel hopping on.

It’s okay though. Lance will put in all the hard work it requires. He’ll go to all the certification courses (family dinners, holidays, dance recitals). He’ll learn his family again, and they’ll relearn him. Lance will get his motorcycle license. It’ll just take time. He hopes he’s granted that much, once the war is over.

“Looking for your pretty girlfriend?” Veronica says after they run into each other in the landing bay. She teases him just as much now as she did back then, and it’s kind of reassuring in an annoying way.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Lance says, embarrassed. Growing up, he had a bit of a reputation for falling in and out of love with someone new every week. _What girl is it this time_ , his siblings would ask, and his mother would defend him with a smile. _My little Lance, so much love to give._

“You sure about that?”

Lance isn’t sure about anything, least of all his relationship with Allura. “Why? Do you know where she is?”

Veronica smiles. “I might have an idea.”

They meet Romelle outside of the interrogation chamber, and she greets him with a warm _Welcome back!_

“How long has she been in there?” asks Veronica.

“About an hour,” says Romelle. “I don’t like it when the Princess goes in alone, but she insists.”

Lance follows them inside the observation room where they can see and hear what’s going on through speakers and one-way glass. Allura sits across from the other Altean who’s shackled to a metal table between them.

“I’m not going to give you what you want to hear,” the Altean says. She’s pretty, Lance thinks, with long red hair and and matching marks under her eyes. She looks as young as Allura or Romelle, harmless. “I’ve already told you the truth.”

“You keep telling us that _Lotor_ is the one who sent you here,” snaps Allura. The words hit Lance like one of Keith’s jabs to his gut. _No_. “But that is impossible. Lotor is dead, Mirana. He was driven mad and trapped himself in the Quintessence field.”

“That’s what you think. But Lotor is our savior. A god. He cannot be killed because he lives in us.”

“He harvested your people, _our_ _people_ , for quintessence!” Allura shouts, and it’s not like her. She’s not quick to lash out. This must be an argument they’ve had over and over again.

“He _rescued_ us.”

“Mirana, we’re leaving soon. We’re going to fight Haggar, and we’re going to win. You’ll be left here all alone. No one will visit you, I’ll make sure of it. Unless you cooperate.”

“ _Princess,”_ Mirana says, but in her mouth, the title sounds anything but reverent. “I am never alone. He’s with me. He speaks to me.”

“Listen to me. You can be part of what brings peace to the universe,” says Allura in a final plea. In this conversation alone, Lance can see that threats haven’t worked, and neither has logic. There’s nothing left except an appeal for the greater good. “We can make a brighter future for new generations of Alteans. Please, Mirana. Haggar doesn’t care for any of that. All she values is her power.”

“I can show you,” offers Mirana, flexing her wrists in their bonds. “You can hear it too. All you have to do is uncuff one of my hands.”

Allura pauses, as if she’s actually considering it.

“One of us should go in there,” Lance says, both ready and willing.

“She won’t do it,” says Veronica, confident, until they see Allura reach into her sleeve and pull out a small key.

“Allura!” Lance calls out, pounding on the glass, but if she can hear him, she doesn’t pay it any attention. She unlatches the right arm of the captive Altean, and when Mirana extends her hand, she takes it.

“See.”

It’s quiet for a moment, nothing happens. Then Allura’s eyes roll back into her skull.

Lance bolts to the door, and Veronica doesn’t stop him. He throws himself down the half-flight of stairs and into the chamber.

“Allura!” Lance is drawn to her side. Her mouth is frozen open in horror, eyes blank canvases. He reaches for her arm.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Mirana says, and it causes Lance to halt. He looks at her, trying to determine whether it’s an empty threat or not.

“Let her go,” Lance demands. He reaches for the bayard at his belt, a warning. “Let her go. Now.”

Mirana purses her lips, says, “I think she’s seen enough already,” and drops Allura's hand.

Allura comes back to herself with a wail, and Lance tries to calm her, tries to get her to look in his eyes. _It’s okay now. You’re here at the Garrison. You’re safe_. He helps her stand and leads her up the stairs, pulls her into his arms when she continues to cry.

A year ago, Lance thinks, they were in this exact position. The tears were the same too, and Lance feels just as helpless as he did then.

“What did you see?” he asks when Allura quiets, even though he already knows the answer.

“He was there,” Allura says, avoiding his eyes, “just like she said. I know it was a trick. Haggar has made far more frightening things happen. It just felt so real.” She sighs, wiping her eyes on her cuff. “I’m such a fool. I just didn’t know what else to do.”

_She wanted to see him again_ , a traitorous part of Lance thinks, but he’s able to push the thought aside. “Now we know that Haggar is using mind control to manipulate the Alteans from Lotor’s colony. We can use that.”

“Perhaps,” murmurs Allura. She runs her hand over a wet spot on Lance’s collar, and he sucks in a breath, heart jumping out of habit. “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay,” he says. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

“Yes,” Allura says, frowning. She looks up into his face. “Your friendship is very valuable to me.”

“Same here,” Lance agrees. No matter what happens between them, he’ll always consider himself lucky to have her as a friend and teammate.

“Clearly I’m not ready to pursue anything deeper than that.” She gives a self-deprecating chuckle. “So much has happened since you woke Coran and me out of cryosleep. And we still have so far to go, both in defeating Haggar and trying to rebuild what has been lost.”

“Right.” Is this is her way of turning him down? Because the timing is kinda weird. Not that Lance hasn’t been expecting it, getting ready for his final bubble of hope to burst.

He’s even been preparing what to say, something like: _Allura, you’ve helped me grow as a person and as a paladin. I’ll never regret falling for you because you’re someone I’ll always admire._ Something, something... _The future of Altea is in good hands,_ and then rounding it off with a touching kiss on the cheek. It would have been nice to have more time to rehearse, but Lance can improvise.

“After that though,” Allura continues, “If you still feel the same way, maybe we could talk more about it then.”

Um, what?

“You’ve become an honorable paladin, Lance. Not only that, but you’re quick to comfort and encourage. No one could ask for a better partner. I just need time.”

_What?!_

As confessions go, if that’s what this is, the circumstances couldn’t be worse. Allura looks up at him expectantly, and he doesn’t know how to respond. This is what Lance has wanted right? But then, why does he feel so _sad_ _?_

“Allura,” he says solemnly. “You deserve to be with someone you love, not just...someone you have to decide to want. That’s not fair to you.”

“Lance.”

“Just because I’m a better option than Lotor doesn’t mean I’m the right one. A lot of people fit that criteria, and most of them wouldn’t deserve you either.”

Allura gapes, forehead wrinkling. “Are you _telling_ me what _I_ feel?”

“No? I don’t know!” Lance takes a step back and scrubs a palm over his face. “This is all very confusing.”

“I’m certainly confused,” she sighs. “But I stand by what I said before. In a year, if you still feel the same, we can discuss this again.”

As much as a clean break might have been easier, Lance supposes that is fair. Who knows what a year will bring?

 

* * *

 

The moment the launch date is announced, Keith knows someone is going to use it as an excuse to throw a party.

It’s frivolous in his opinion, but he also knows these kinds of events can be useful to boost morale, so he goes along with it.

Even with Shiro as a buffer, being the leader of Voltron is exhausting. He has to give official statements, and talk to Iverson, and people are always asking him about his opinions. Keith doesn’t consider himself to be a particularly dramatic person, but at times, he wants to throw up his hands and shout. _I’m socially awkward! You’re killing me!_

It can be something as small as banquet attire. What should they wear: their paladin armor, or their Garrison uniforms? Keith feels comfortable in his armor. He makes his choice known, and then they just go ahead and do what they want anyway. The event is hosted by the Garrison, so they should represent themselves as such.

They get new uniforms, in colors to match their paladin armor. Lance is certainly excited about it. He takes, like, a thousand selfies, some of them including Keith, always looking away or putting his hand in front of the camera.

Keith doesn’t hate the uniform, but the collar is tight around his neck, and he looks forward to taking it off more than he does celebrating their departure.

If anything, Keith is glad they included civilians in the festivities, not just Garrison personnel. They’re the ones who need the moment of levity most of all.

Rations are still meager, but Hunk can make just about anything taste delicious. Coran floats around the room in a full tux, serving finger sandwiches and cream puffs. There’s music and decorations, and yes, even a little bit of booze. Keith takes a swig of bourbon, and the taste is bad, but he appreciates the way it settles in his chest.

He watches Pidge spin around the dance floor with her father, more girlish than Keith has ever seen her. She needs normalcy, Keith decides. The knowledge that everyone is safe and getting along. As their leader, that’s what he can try to provide.

Everyone is mingling now, but Keith sits at the table by himself. The longer he’s on Earth, the more he feels like he doesn’t belong. There’s no family for him here, aside from Krolia, and her time on Earth is limited. There’s no home for him, aside from a Garrison dorm room the size of a closet.

Once the war is over, maybe Keith will always be a nomad, floating from mission to mission - like mother, like son.

Later, Shiro taps on his shoulder and pulls him up to dance for a song. Keith’s face is red the entire time.

“You just love embarrassing me, don’t you?”

“Only on special occasions,” Shiro laughs. He seems to have recovered from the shock of seeing his ex-fiancé again. Keith has been studying him carefully over the last three weeks, checking for cracks, preparing the mortar.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks, and Shiro continues to smile.

“Honestly, I feel better than I have in a long while,” Shiro says, and after having his physical body destroyed and his soul trapped in a sentient lion for months, maybe that’s not saying much. Still, it’s a relief to know he’s doing well. All Keith’s worry and panic has been for naught. “The Atlas has come a long way, even since we fought Sendak, and I feel ready to pilot her.”

“That’s good. I’m glad.”

“Even though I won’t be forming Voltron with you all, I’ll still be right by your side.”

Maybe, Keith thinks, all Shiro has ever needed from Keith is to _be_ needed. He’s at his best when he’s leading and fostering the potential in others. Since Keith will never stop going to him for advice, never stop listening to the wisdom he has to offer, his being needed isn’t likely to change anytime soon.

_And Adam?_ Keith wants to ask but holds his tongue. Adam didn’t show up for the party tonight. He wonders what that means.

When the festivities die down, Keith changes his clothes and heads to the the Garrison’s training deck for the last time. He’ll start with some throwing practice and then maybe kickboxing.

What he isn’t expecting is to find Lance already there, waiting for him.

“Figured you’d show up here,” Lance says with a grin. He’s changed too, into his usual clothes. His bayard is already transformed into the Altean broadsword. “Wanna spar?”

“Okay,” Keith agrees.

It’s still weird to see Lance with the red bayard sometimes, especially in sword form. At close range, he swings and hacks with a lack of finesse, but he’s certainly enthusiastic about it. Somehow, his aim becomes more accurate the further Keith steps away. At least the broadsword’s length is convenient for that.

“You have to stop getting flustered when your opponent gets within arm’s length,” Keith says.

“What, the enemy won’t respect my need for personal space?” Lance jokes, sliding a foot along Keith’s to knock him off his stance. He takes the opportunity to swing at Keith’s abdomen. It’s a move Keith can’t block, but he does use the opening to bring his own sword down, resting in the space between Lance’s shoulder and neck.

“I cut you, you cut me, baby.” Lance winks, seeming a little too satisfied with this position of mutual demise.

Keith rolls his eyes. “You have to remember to block too.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

They continue like this for a while, until Keith stomps on Lance’s toe to disarm him, red bayard sailing across the room, and Lance throws a hissy fit.

“Are you done now?” Keith asks. Lance sits on the ground, massaging his foot, glaring.

“Are you done being a jerk?”

“You’re getting better,” Keith says, telling the truth. He hoists Lance back on his feet. “Really. If we were caught in a tight skirmish, I’d trust you to have my back.”

Lance’s frown softens. “Hey,” he says, “come with me.”

 

* * *

 

The night air is cool against Lance’s skin, but it feels nice after a workout.

“Nice view,” Keith remarks. They sit side by side, looking out over the desert, against a horizon of stars. It gives Lance the craziest flashbacks. Déjà vu, except, it really did happen, what feels like a lifetime ago.

“You wanna know where we are?”

Keith furrows his brows in the way he does when someone makes a pop culture reference he doesn’t understand or tries to start a chant.  “The roof?”

It’s fitting that while parts of the Garrison were wiped out in the Galra attack, this structure still stands. The place where it all started.

“This is where we were the night you rescued Shiro. Hunk and I climbed up and found Pidge sitting here with all this gear, listening for alien chatter” He points down across the desert sand. “And that’s where we saw an explosion go off.”

“Oh.”

“I recognized you right away,” Lance says. “And you were my rival, so...couldn’t let you have all the action.”

“I’m sorry,” Keith says, sounding distraught.

“For what?”

“Dragging you all away from your families,” he says, just the beginning of a stream of regrets spilling from his mouth. “Leading you to the blue lion. Trapping you in space for years.”

_“Keith,_ ” Lance breathes. This is so not how he thought things would go. It was just supposed to be a nice trip down memory lane.

“I didn’t have anything to lose, but you guys had so much, and I took it all away. Even when Pidge tried to leave, I yelled at her about...being _indebted_ to the universe or whatever. Fuck. I keep trying to be a good leader, but all I did was lead you into danger, didn’t I?”

“Keith, _stop_.” Lance elbows him in the side to get him to shut up. “I didn’t bring you up here to make you feel bad!”

Lance used to imagine a life where he and Hunk had stayed in their beds like obedient children. A life where the desire for adventure and the need to prove himself to anyone who would listen didn’t burn like wildfire through his veins. On nights when the homesickness was bad, thoughts like that were loose pins, rattling around his chest cavity, pricking any vital organ they could land on.

Lance had to shut them down, to extract the loose objects before they could bleed him out. He had to find the good things about traveling in space, light years from home. Silver threads to stitch up the holes left behind.

“What would have happened to us if we stayed?” Lance asks. “We would have had, what, five years of peace before the Galra attacked? Before we were sent into battle? We could have died defending the Garrison. Or been captured, enslaved.”

“You don’t know that,” says Keith.

“Yeah? Well, neither do you.” Lance pulls his knees up to his chest, rests his head upon them. He stares at Keith until the boy turns to meet his eye.

“The universe had a plan for all of us. We were meant to be up here that night. I was meant to follow you into space, and you're meant to lead me there now,” he declares. “That’s what I choose to believe.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to live up to all that,” Keith whispers.

“Well, buckle up, buttercup.” Lance slaps him on the back none too gently. “We leave tomorrow morning.”

Keith winces at the smack and looks into the distance.

There’s something easy about being around Keith, Lance thinks, especially since they’ve been back on Earth. Lance knows what to expect from him, even in his impulsivity. Even their arguments have the same rhythm, the same insecurities and grudges rearing their ugly heads time and again.

“Did you mean what you said?” Keith asks. “During that game show?”

Wait, what are they talking about again? “Game show?”

“You know, Garfle Waffle Snack. Did you mean what you said,” Keith pauses. “About me being the future?”

That is exactly what Lance said. He’s surprised Keith remembers. “Yeah, of course I did.”

“Why?”

Lance watches Keith, breeze tousling his hair. In this moment, he looks so young, too young to have the weight of the galaxy resting on his shoulders. But Keith is also a wonder. It’s built in his DNA, the only half-human, half-Galra to ever exist. How could he not be important?

“Keith, you’re the closest thing to a redemption arc the Galra will ever have. And you’re living proof that we can coexist. Different planets and beings, working together, falling in love. If Haggar doesn’t wipe all of us out first, that’s what the future holds. That’s who you are.”

Keith is silent. Lance can tell he’s feeling overwhelmed, so to lighten the mood, he says, “Did you mean what you said about not wanting to spend the rest of eternity trapped with me?”

“...I really did say that, didn’t I?”

“It’s cool.”

“No it’s not,” Keith huffs. “That’s not why I picked you. I was just being an asshole.”

_Oh?_

“When Shiro told me to fly the black lion if anything ever happened to him, I was so scared,” Keith says. His fists clench at his sides. “I didn’t want to even consider the possibility - I was angry with him for even _suggesting_ it - but I know why he had to put me in that position. He trusted me. He wanted to make sure the team would continue on no matter what.”

“Yeah, man,” says Lance. “I was there when you told us. I still wish Shiro would have discussed it with us as a group, but I don’t see what it’s got to do with me.”

“That’s what I was doing,” Keith clarifies, looking him in the eyes. “Making sure.”

Making sure? Making sure the team would continue on? By choosing _Lance?_ Shiro chose Keith as his just-in-case successor because he trusted him, trusted Keith. And Keith chose-

It takes as long as it did for Keith’s words to make sense as it does for Lance to register that there are tears running down his cheeks.

“Lance, oh my god,” Keith’s voice is horrified.

“I can’t help it,” he bawls. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me! Why didn’t you tell me that back then? You jerk!”

“Whenever I try to be sincere, you throw it back in my face!” Keith yells. “Plus!” He gestures to Lance’s crying, fetal form as if to say _With this reaction, can you blame me?_

“Keith,” Lance sniffles, “give me a hug.”

“Will that make you stop crying?”

“Probably not,” he says, just as Keith opens his arms.

For Lance, physical contact pretty much doubles the intensity of any given emotion. He can be watching a sappy movie on TV, holding it together, but as soon as his sister Rachel buries her face in his shoulder, Lance loses it.

Doesn’t mean he shies away from it.

Keith’s limbs are stiff, but he does pat Lance’s back in an awkward attempt at comfort. _There, there_. Lance clutches at the fabric of Keith’s dumb, cropped jacket and allows a few months worth of emotion to drain out of his body. Grief, anger, jealousy, fear. And when they’re gone, what’s left is _relief_.

Lance _does_ have a place on the team. He’s not just the class clown, the _dumb one_. Keith sees his value, and Allura does too. They rely on him, trust him.

He treasures that responsibility with trembling hands.

“There,” Keith says, only sounding a little annoyed, “get it all out of your system?”

“Sorry,” Lance says, but he’s really not that apologetic. “Hey, you’re cradling me in your arms. How’s this for a bonding moment?”

Keith’s chest rumbles in barely suppressed laughter. “Gonna forget this one too?”

_Never_. When he lifts his head, he sees the stars reflected in Keith’s dusky eyes, and somehow, they’re even brighter this way.

For a minute, neither of them speak. They don’t pull away either. It’s weird. It’s weird, right? _Or, consider this_ , thinks the part of Lance’s brain that won’t allow for conscious motor function. _It’s nice._

Disjointed sensations float around Lance, through him. The stars are bright. The air is cool. Keith’s hands are warm. Keith’s mouth smells like bourbon. Keith’s mouth-

A hatch slams behind them, and Lance and Keith jolt apart.

“Oh, hey! There you guys are!” calls Pidge. She’s followed by Hunk and Shiro. “We were looking for you! Guess you had the same idea we did.”

“Y-yep,” stutters Lance. “G-guess so.” His heart is racing.

“This is right where we were sitting,” Hunk says to Shiro. “Man, it feels like a decade ago. I swore I’d never let Lance convince me to sneak out again.”

“I don’t remember anything about that night,” Shiro admits. “But I’m grateful you were willing to help me.”

“They should really install a plaque up here for us,” says Pidge with her hands on her hips. “To commemorate our origin story. But until then...”

She pulls out five markers in five different colors. They each sign their names, even Shiro, after a brief lecture about vandalism. They mark the place where it all began.

And then, Pidge writes at the top:

_Team_ _Voltron was here_.

Lance hopes, someday soon, they will return.

 

* * *

 

With the light of day comes emotional farewells, not only for the paladins, but others joining them. Sam and Matt Holt, Veronica, the MFEs, and a dozen other Garrison personnel. They all know the danger of the mission but volunteer anyway.

Voltron isn’t just a lone defender of the universe anymore, not just the remnant of a forgotten empire or the head of a coalition either.

It’s an army.

After they’ve loaded all the necessary equipment and supplies, Keith helps Shiro escort their prisoner aboard, the Altean called Mirana. Her inclusion on their mission was part of a lengthy debate.

Lance and Allura confessed what had transpired in the interrogation chamber right after it happened, studiously avoiding each other's eye contact the entire time. Keith wonders what happened between them, but he doesn’t dare to ask.

There was the possibility that the strange Altean held precious information, tools they could leverage to defeat Haggar. But bringing her along also held risk. What if Haggar could use her to track the Atlas? What if her psychic abilities extended outside of Mirana’s touch?

In the end, it was decided. If Haggar wanted track them, then fine. Let her bring the fight to them. They would be prepared this time. And, Keith thought, they would win.

“Wait!” a voice calls out, and Keith sees Adam at the end of the runway, duffel slung across his back. He walks up to Shiro and says, “I’m coming with you.”

“Adam,” says Shiro softly. “You’re not in any condition to-”

“No. I’m not watching you leave again. Not without me.” He stands weak but defiant. “Takashi, please.”

Keith knows that Shiro doesn’t have it in him to refuse, and although he still hasn’t forgiven Adam entirely, Keith finds himself hoping that things will work out.

For Keith, exiting Earth’s atmosphere is like a breath of fresh air. He takes Black out the first opportunity he gets, racing through the stars, feeling so very _alive_.

Space is complex, multiplicitous. It offers Keith peace and solitude, and at the same time, it helps him to feel less alone. The universe is so vast, so full of life, there has to be somewhere in it that Keith can call home.

Keith can’t say he feels alone on the Atlas either. It’s tighter than the castleship and more crowded by far. He doesn’t have a private bathroom or shower, and he has to compete with others for use of the training deck.

Also, Keith keeps finding Lance floating inside his orbit. At mealtimes, around the control room, and even outside the ship, flying their lions. Lance is always peering over his shoulder, close enough to touch.

Something happened between them on the roof of the Garrison. Something Keith can’t name.

One second, they were talking about their feelings, and the next, they were inches apart. Face-to-face. For a moment, Keith was foolish enough to think that Lance was going to kiss him. For a moment, Keith wanted him to.

Weeks go by. They use the teladuv to visit planets in the coalition - Arus, Balmera, Olkarion, Puig - gaining knowledge and support along the way.

They run into the Galra more than once, the final, disintegrating fragments of an empire with no leader. No one was able to gain widespread support after Lotor and Sendak. Haggar didn’t deign to align herself with them anymore, something greater in the works.

Those missions are simple and familiar. Freeing planets from Galra rule, just like the good old days. They form Voltron easily and work together better than ever. Keith does his best to commend their individual performances.

Hunk accepts the praise with a smile. Pidge plays it cool and pretends to ignore it. Allura looks bewildered, as if Keith were the one replaced by a clone and she was the only one to noticed. And Lance.

“Stop saying stuff like that,” Lance whines, cheeks pink. He won’t meet Keith’s eyes.

“Like what?” asks Keith “I’m giving you a compliment. That was a great shot back there.”

“ _That_. The compliments. It’s embarrassing, man.” Lance fidgets.

“Yeah?” Keith challenges, possessed by an unhinged kind of confidence. “What are you going to do about it?” And Lance flushes even darker.

They start sparring regularly again, late at night after most of the crew has gone to sleep, and when they’re too tired to do that, they talk. Eventually, Lance’s awkwardness dissipates, and they establish a new level of comfort, one that includes hugs goodnight and leaning into each other after tough battles. It’s linked fingers under the table at strategy sessions, and shared smiles over diplomatic dinners.

Lance is like that with everyone though, always draping himself over Hunk like he’s lying down on a piece of furniture, or playing with Pidge’s glasses, booping her on the nose.

Keith tries not to read too far into things. He knows Lance likes girls and is probably still in love with Allura.

He’s never really had those kind of feelings for anyone before, barely even had friends before finding Voltron, and even then, it took awhile for him to admit that the paladins were anything more than fellow soldiers, fighting for the same cause, occupying the same space.

It’s not like Keith doesn’t notice attractive people, and Lance is no exception. Smooth, tan skin and bright blue eyes, long-lipped smiles and longer legs. This is information that Keith tries not to dwell on, cataloged and tucked away. It was just easier to ignore when Lance was annoying, a gnat buzzing in his ear, challenging him to stupid contests.

Now, Lance is Keith’s right hand, someone he trusts. He cries into Keith’s arms and doesn’t even deny it. He’s far too soft and kind and incompatible with Keith’s jagged edges.

If there’s one thing he knows, it’s this: Keith has always been a presence _infected_ on people, not invited. At foster homes and the Garrison, getting into fights, splitting lips and blackening eyes. Keith the problem child, Keith the loner.

He learned to ride a speeder so that loneliness could be something achieved, rather than something forced. _Leave them behind, choking on dust,_ became his mantra. _Leave them before they can leave you._

And after losing Shiro and getting expelled, he could only assume he would end up in that carefully crafted isolation, in his desert shack, buried under red yarn and conspiracy.

So Keith doesn’t have feelings for Lance. He’s just not used to touch, that’s all. That’s why his whole body tingles when Lance holds his hand.

Then, the Atlas has a run in with the Druids. It’s a heart-pounding battle that ends in a close call and sparks the worst argument Keith and Lance have had since he left for the Blade of Marmora.

“What happened back there?” Lance fumes. He stands over Keith who is prone on a cot in the med bay. The only thing wrong is a bump on the back of his head and a bloody nose. Nothing worth going in a healing pod for.

“What, when I was doing my _job?_ ” Keith grits back, tired and sore. He just wants to go to sleep and wake up tomorrow morning like nothing ever happened.

“When you chased after that thing on your own!”

The Druid was fast, disappearing and reappearing from the shadows. But Keith was fast too. He didn’t hesitate to chase, dropping into a dark tunnel with the paladins yelling at his back.

Maybe it was a little stupid, Keith is willing to admit. He didn’t have his space wolf down there with him this time, no way to teleport and keep up. His blade kept flying through air, missing.

The Druid extended its arm, and a blast of quintessence hit Keith in the chest, knocking him flat. His fingers were twitching. His senses went into overdrive, bright lights of swirling energy and the taste of blood, so sharp.

The next thing he knew Pidge was over him, slapping his face, yelling, “ _Keith!”_

_I’m not Keith_ , he remembers thinking. _I am a creature, a wild thing. I cannot be known._

“Just get in the pod!” Lance says, voice thick. He looks so _mad._

“Lance,” Keith tries to reason, “I feel fine.”

“I’ll put you in there myself, I swear to god, Keith. You don’t know what that ghost wizard did to you!”

“It’s just quintessence,” Keith growls. “It takes continual exposure to do lasting damage, you heard what Coran said.”

“Don’t be such a stubborn idiot!”

“Takes one to know one!”

Hunk walks in then, carrying a steaming bowl of something, registering the tension immediately. “Uh, am I...interrupting?”

_What gave it away, Hunk?_ Keith wants to bite. _Their murderous glares?_ Hunk, knowing better than to get involved, leaves the bowl on the table and backs away.

Lance begins to deflate, unclenching his fists and knees folding. He sits down in the chair next to Keith’s cot and exhales.

“Why do you always do that?” he asks. “Why do you always have to run off on your own?”

“I don’t mean to,” Keith answers, feeling vulnerable, stripped bare, nowhere to run. “That’s just...how it’s been. All my life. You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it to me in a way that makes sense, Keith.”

Lance, with his warm personality, making friends whenever he goes. Lance, growing up surrounded by family, never having a moment by himself. And Lance, who confessed to Keith that despite all this, he still felt lonely. How can Keith explain why he pushes everyone away? How he carried around garbage bags and school books labeled _Do not touch_. Stamped the words on his forehead.

“If you only rely on yourself, no one can disappoint you,” he whispers. “When they decide you’re not worth their time.”

He closes his eyes as Lance reaches under the blanket, threads their fingers together. “What is it going to take to convince you that we will never decide that?”

Keith doesn’t have an answer. He doesn’t know himself. Everything has an expiration date, even Team Voltron.

He falls asleep holding Lance’s hand, dreaming about something that the druid said, right as Keith was losing consciousness.

_Haggar has a plan for you_.

 

* * *

 

Falling out of love with Allura and in love with Keith in rapid succession is maybe the most reckless decision Lance has ever unconsciously made. Like, throwing himself in front of a bomb levels of bad.

The timing is terrible, coming to the climax of a ten thousand-year-old war. Allura had the right idea - let’s put these feeling in a box, wrap them up, and tie it with a bow. Tuck them under the tree, and do not open til the war is won.

Who is Lance kidding? He’s never been one for delayed gratification. He doesn’t leave things alone. On Christmas Eve, he runs his fingers over the presents, checking for open seams, shaking them to determine what’s inside.

Besides, is that even what this is? Love? The magnetic pull towards Keith, the desire to follow him wherever he leads? The growing urge to smash both of their faces together whenever they spar?

And if that’s what it is, then why the hell did Lance spend so much time feeling bitter and jealous? Feeling like Keith was the obstacle, blocking every staircase and ladder to the top, instead of being the one who would carry him there.

There’s only one person he can go to, maybe the only person who would be able to understand.

Lance stands in front of the door to Shiro’s quarters on the Atlas. He raises his fist, drops it. Raises it again. _Nope_ , not ready.

It’s been fifteen minutes of standing here, deep in conflict, and he’s starting to worry that someone might walk by and ask him what he’s doing.

This is stupid, right? Shiro doesn’t want to be bothered. He’s got more than enough on his plate. This isn’t a life or death conversation. It can wait.

But Lance knows it won’t be easy to work up the confidence to ask again. _I just need a minute to think_. He leans against the door frame but misjudges the distance, and his head bumps against the metal with a gentle _thunk_.

He hears movement from inside the room _(Shit!)_ , muffled footsteps, and then the door swings open.

“Lance?”

Shiro’s voice is surprised but soft. He’s standing in the doorway looking more casual than Lance has ever seen him, just a black T-shirt and shorts, white hair a little ruffled like he’d been lying down.

“Shiro, hey. Sorry, I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No, not at all. It’s good to see you. Is there something I can help you with?”

He swallows. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Of course, anything,” Shiro says, backing away from the frame. “Just a second.”

The door swings wider, and Lance is startled to see that Shiro isn’t alone. Adam is sitting at the foot of the bed, slipping on his shoes.

“Sorry! I, uh, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He can feel his cheeks going red, already nervous, now knocked completely off his axis. “I can come back later! Or never. Ah, _jeez_.”

“ _Lance_ , it’s okay. Adam was just going.” He sounds more amused than annoyed, so Lance cautiously follows him in.

Adam looks up then, gives Lance a polite smile, and Lance nods back weakly. He envisions himself more bold, walking up to Adam and shaking his hand, saying, _Hey, the name’s Lance! It seems like we have the same terrible taste in super talented, heroic dudes that don’t value their own safety. Wacky!_

Instead, Shiro walks over and helps his boyfriend to his feet, then gives him a hug, turning to whisper something in his ear. Lance, feeling like an intruder, looks away.

Once they’re alone, Shiro shuts the door. “Have a seat.”

Rather than sit beside him on the bed, Lance opts to pull the chair out from Shiro’s desk. He fidgets for a moment. Crosses his legs, uncrosses them.

“You seem...anxious,” Shiro notes, astute.

“Who me? Anxious?” Lance laughs anxiously. “I guess I just don’t really know where to start.”

“Take your time,” says Shiro with a patient nod.

Lance takes a deep breath. “Okay, here it goes. How did you and Adam meet?”

Silence.

Lance can feel his palms start to sweat. _Crap! I knew this was a bad idea_. He can’t bear to meet Shiro’s eyes. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that! I shouldn’t pry.”

“No, it’s okay. You just caught me off guard.” Lance lifts his head slowly, but Shiro isn’t even looking at him, staring at the door with a soft smile. “I met Adam my first year at the Garrison. But you probably already knew that.”

“Right. Keith told me. That wasn’t exactly what I was asking.”

Shiro glances back now, brows drawn into a curious line. “You want to know how we started dating?”

“Something like that, yeah,” Lance says. “Only if you feel comfortable.”

Shiro scratches his head. “It’s not really that exciting a story. We were in the same year and a lot of the same classes. He was an engineer, and I was a pilot. We didn’t really interact much until Iverson paired us up on the same flight team.”

“Oh, yeah? And you became friends?”

“Not right away.” Shiro chuckles, “Adam would actually tell you that he couldn’t stand me at first.”

This surprises Lance. _What’s not to like?_ Because Shiro is literally the coolest person in the universe - and Lance has seen a lot of the universe. “Why’s that?” he hears himself ask.

“Adam thought I was a show off.” Shiro leans back on his arms, deep in thought. “I’m sure you noticed that Iverson’s not exactly a friendly guy, but he isn’t shy about favoritism. Or comparison. I kept breaking flight records, and I thought we were working well together as a team. But behind the scenes, Iverson was more critical than I knew, toward both Adam and our navigator. I think it really took a toll on their self esteem.”

Lance feels his heart beat a little faster in his chest. “Then what?”

“One night, we were in my dorm room working on an assignment for another course. I was the one who suggested it. In my mind, we were friends. I had no idea that Adam had come to resent me. It was all going fine until I questioned one of the solutions he’d gotten. He snapped, said something like, _Just because you’re a natural and everything comes easy to you doesn’t mean you have all the answers. Some people actually have to work for their spot here.”_

Lance tries to wet his suddenly dry mouth, tongue sticking to his teeth.  “S-sounds bad.”

Shiro gives a noncommittal shrug. “I wasn’t angry with him, just...sad that he felt that way and that I’d never noticed. Adam got into the Garrison on an academic scholarship. He’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, aside from the Holts maybe. He’s incredibly gifted in physics, and he studied hard on top of that. But Iverson made him question his abilities out in the field, like he couldn’t cut it where it counted.”

“Still,” Lance says, the words as much for himself as they are for Shiro, “that wasn’t your fault.”

“No, it wasn’t. I had advanced test scores too, even higher ones for athletic performance. On top of that, the Garrison had a grant to promote diversity. But it was all almost taken away when we found out about my illness.”

“Keith told me about that too,” he admits. 

Shiro sighs. “It was...degenerative. There was only so much the doctors could do. They gave me a timeline. I just wanted to do the best I could for as long as I could, while I was at peak performance. And that’s what I told Adam. _See, I had to fight for my spot too_.”

Lance can picture it easily, the shape of the story familiar enough to make his head spin. “You deserved your spot,” he says with a fervor that rattles his core.

“I did,” Shiro agrees, “and Adam deserved his too. The outburst was out of character, and he apologized afterward. It was the start of a friendship, not the end of one. All in all, a productive argument.”

_Psh_. Leave it to Shiro to see a fight as a learning experience. Always so practical. “I wouldn’t have forgiven him that quickly,” Lance grumbles, which makes Shiro chuckle.

“I’m glad I did. He was a much better friend than a rival.” They both let that thought settle. “Does that answer your question?”

“Kind of, but not exactly.”

“Is there something I can clarify? When I said you could talk to me about anything, I meant it.”

And Lance trusts Shiro, on the battlefield and off, so he asks: “How did you know you liked Adam as more than just a friend?”

“ _Oh_.” He can tell that Shiro is trying to hide his surprise, but it shows in the slant of his brows. “That’s not an easy answer. It didn’t happen all at once. We started hanging out more and more, and I cherished our time together. One night, he invited me to go stargazing. It was a little chilly, but lying there on the hood of his car, looking up at the sky...I’ve never felt more at peace. That’s when he confessed his feelings, and I reciprocated.”

“You make it sound so simple,” says Lance quietly.

“Not simple, just...inevitable. For Adam, I think it was realizing that the grudge he felt toward me was misplaced admiration. For me, there were few people I felt more comfortable with. No topic of conversation was truly off limits. We could argue respectfully and come out stronger. Plus, I loved the look on his face whenever I made him laugh.”

It’s a lot to process, and Lance finds himself stewing in silence until Shiro’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder. It’s his left hand, his human hand, and the warmth of his palm radiates through the material of Lance’s shirt.

“Lance...can I ask you a question now?”

“Shoot.”

“Are you asking me this because Adam is a man?”

Lance closes his eyes and exhales noisily through his nose. He can’t deny what Shiro says, but he can’t speak to confirm it either. _I’m scared_ , he thinks. _But there’s nothing to be scared of. Right?_

“Hey, it’s okay. I know I can’t speak for everyone, but in my experience? Coming to terms with my sexuality was less about a shocking revelation and more about recognizing it as an option and _allowing_ myself to feel what had always been there, right under the surface.”

The hand on Lance’s shoulder squeezes tight, and it prompts him to look up into Shiro’s eyes.

“I was still the same person, just a little more honest with myself. That’s a kind of freedom that no one else can give you. I’m proud to love who I love. But it’s also important to remember that everyone’s journey is different.” Shiro’s grip softens until he’s let go of Lance’s shoulder completely, leaning back again. “Does any of that help?”

Lance nods slowly, dry eyes for now, but knowing he’ll be a mess whenever he leaves the room. “Yeah, I think it does. Thank you, Shiro.”

“No need to thank me. I’m always happy to help in whatever way I can.”

They both stand, and Shiro walks him the few feet between the bed and the door.

“Hey, how are you and Adam by the way?” Lance thinks it polite to ask. “Keith told me things were a little bumpy before you left for Kerberos.”

Shiro smiles, eyes creasing, and there’s pain behind it but hope too. “We’re going to work things out.”

“Good, that’s good. The universe definitely owes you that much. And like, a million other things.”

“Thanks, Lance.”

“Okay, well, have a good night,” he says, about the lamest way to end such a deep conversation, but he’s all out of stamina at this point. Right before walking out the door, he feels Shiro’s fingers graze the top of his spine.

“Hey, listen. I’m proud of you for being so open with me. It’s not easy to be vulnerable.”

Lance’s mouth twitches. “I didn’t really say anything.”

“Well then, I’m proud of you for having the courage to ask questions. That’s the kind of bravery that makes you a great paladin and an asset to Team Voltron.”

The door shuts softly between them, and Lance stumbles away on new legs like a fawn. _Still the same person_ , he thinks. Just a little more true.

 

* * *

 

Mirana is having nightmares. Keith finds this out from the Marmorans who take turns watching her cell. They seem to worsen the closer they get to Haggar, every run-in with another Druid or planet she leaves devastated in her wake.

“I’m concerned,” Allura tells Keith, as they watch through a one-way glass. She hasn’t talked directly to Mirana since the day she was shown visions of Lotor. She just watches through the window, hoping for clues.

“Could she be...someone Haggar created?” Keith says, studying the Altean who has been in restraints since she was caught pulling her bright red hair until the scalp bled. “Maybe this is a glitch.”

“Could she be a clone, you mean,” Allura deduces with a frown. “No, there’s no evidence of that. The biological scans didn’t find any inorganic material.”

So? No one picked up on Shiro not being himself for months. Aside from Lance, but by then, it was too late. Scans don’t mean very much to Keith.

Allura can tell he’s skeptical. “I think she is just a girl who has been manipulated, by Lotor and Haggar both. I...I sympathize with her.” She looks down, ashamed. “Our people have lost so much. When someone comes along, speaking pretty words, promising a future...that kind of hope is hard to refuse.”

And that’s what Allura needs, Keith realizes. Hope. She has the pressure of an entire race’s survival resting on her shoulders and the fear that all her father’s accomplishments might be forgotten by the universe he served to protect. What can ease that kind of burden but hope?

“I just thought I would be able to get through to her,” she laments. “Who knows better what Lotor and Haggar are capable of? The danger behind their allure?”

“You’ve done all you can,” says Keith, but then, her words give him an idea.

Since the defeat of Sendak on Earth, Acxa has been traveling with the rebel scouts. It’s hard for her to trust and be trusted, Matt tells Keith, but she’s proving to be a strong ally. Good with knives. The female, more alien-looking equivalent of Keith. _Very funny, Matt_.

When Allura summons her to the Atlas, she comes willingly.

“You are a _liar!_ ” Mirana rails, flopping uselessly against her restraints.

Acxa leans over the bed, looking Mirana directly in the eyes. “I’ve seen you before.” Mirana shakes her head in a violent motion. “You know who I am.”

“No, _no_ -”

“I believed in Lotor too, more than anything. He took one look at me, the _half-breed_ that no other Galra squadron wanted, and he saw potential.”

Even though Keith and Acxa have saved each other’s hides multiple times, he’s never spoken to her about why she was working with Lotor in the first place. He assumed the truth was too painful to talk about, laced with regret.

“I visited your colony before. I knew what Lotor was doing, and I allowed it to happen. I trusted in him and believed what he said, about the sacrifices being for the greater good. I’m sorry, Mirana. I will never be able to atone for those crimes,” she says. “Tell me, who am I?”

“Lotor’s favorite _general_ ,” Mirana spits. “His lapdog. You had no part in our new Altean empire. You were just a tool.”

“Mmm,” hums Acxa. “And if I was his dog, obedient to his every word, why would I lie?”

“You’re a traitor.”

Acxa shakes her head. “Mirana, Lotor is dead.” She runs a hand through Mirana’s mangled hair as the Altean sobs. “I should have died there with him. But the universe gave me a second chance, and it will give you one too. All you have to do is accept.”

And Mirana tells them everything she knows. Haggar’s location, her weapons, her plan to tear a rift through an entire _galaxy_. Keith is stunned. He, Alura, and Acxa relay the information to the the crew who immediately begin forming a plan of attack. He gets distracted by Lance who keeps shooting glances between them, like he’s trying to solve one of Hunk and Pidge’s equations.

“What?” Keith asks when they get out of the meeting.

Lance plays dumb. “ _What_ , what?”

“The glaring. Thought you were gonna burn a hole through my forehead.”

“I was _not_ glaring,” he blushes, then, “You guys seem pretty close.”

Keith squints, furrows his brows. “Who, me and Allura?”

Lance scoffs, shoving Keith’s shoulder. “No! You and Acxa.”

Huh? Where would Lance get that idea? From the full foot and a half between their chairs? “She was helping us get through to Mirana.”

“The funny one said she was in love with you.”

It takes Keith a second to realize he’s talking about another one of Lotor’s henchwomen, the one with the long antenna, and the off-handed comment she made months ago. “Lance, we barely know each other.”

“Sure, sure. That’s what they all say.”

Keith flounders, searching for an answer that won’t make Lance want to chew his head off for no reason. “...you wanna spar?”

“No!” Lance shouts, hands thrown in the air. He stalks away to the mess hall, leaving Keith and his confusion behind.

“What was that about?” Shiro asks, leaning against the doorway to the conference room. Keith didn’t see him standing there.

“Hell if I know.”

Shiro chuckles. He’s been doing that more lately - smiling, laughing, teasing. In the midst of all fighting and chaos, it warms Keith’s heart.

“You and Lance seem to be spending a lot of time together lately,” he says innocently.

“I guess,” Keith cautions. “We’re...friends now. I think.”

“I’m glad.”

“You know, it’s good for the team.”

“Right,” Shiro agrees, but it feels like he’s saying more than that. He uses his human arm to pull Keith in, tousling his hair.

Keith finds Allura later, bathing the mice. Her hair is down, and it’s the first time Keith has seen her like that since she started flying the blue lion. She looks relaxed.

“Oh, Keith,” Allura says. She has soap on her face, and Keith hands her a towel. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Not just for this.” She wipes her cheek and then folds the patterned fabric into a tidy square. “For suggesting that Acxa speak with Mirana.”

“Of course. I’m glad things worked out,” he says. “Listen, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” Allura looks at him expectantly, like there’s been something she’s been waiting to hear from him. “It’s about rebuilding Altea.”

“Oh.” She blinks. “That’s not what I was expecting.” Keith wants to ask what she thought he was going to say, but she waves it off. “Continue.”

“I want to help,” says Keith, sitting forward. “If Lotor was right about anything, it’s that the Galra and the Alteans can work together again. I want the Blade of Marmora to aid in rebuilding a new Altea.” He takes a deep breath and waits for her response.  

“Keith,” Allura says. When she looks up at him, her eyes are shining with unshed tears.

“I haven’t talked to Kolivan about it yet,” he admits, scratching his head. “But I know Krolia will be able to convince him.”

Keith is pulled forward into a fierce hug. Allura’s hair ends up in his mouth, but he doesn’t move away. There was a time that Keith believed Allura would hate him forever, that a working relationship would never be possible, let alone a friendship. He’s so glad that isn’t the case.

“I accept the offer,” she murmurs, squeezing. Keith thought Hunk’s hugs were tight, but Altean strength is no joke. “And if I may be so bold to request something else?”

“Sure,” Keith says. If it’s something he can do, he will.

She pulls back and looks at him knowingly. “Be gentle with Lance.”

 

* * *

 

The energy on the Atlas is a mixture of nerves and excitement. Voltron and the MFEs run drills every day. Five more jumps til they reach Haggar, they count down. Then two more jumps, then one.

Shiro gives an emotional speech, and they broadcast it across all channels. To the rebels and the to Blade and to any planet of the coalition that’s within reach. The support that they have around the universe is staggering, humbling. Even after coming to terms with his worth, Lance will never understand how he got to be a part of something so important and meaningful.

He prays to any god that will listen, whispers the same sacred thoughts to his lion. _Please, let everyone come out of this alive_. He hopes it’s not too much to ask. They’ve survived evil dictators and cannons and planet-shaped bombs. He wants their luck to hold out, just a little bit longer. _Please, give us the chance to keep defending._

He knows that the universe brought them together, from the very beginning. It will decide when it’s time for the very end.

They suit up in their armor, like they’ve done so many times before, as if it’s any other mundane mission. In the lions’ hangar, they have privacy. Only Shiro and Coran see come to see them off and quickly depart. They have an important role to play in this battle too.

One by one, they board the lions, until only Keith and Lance are left.

“Good luck out there,” Keith says. The sentiment is a little bland but sincere. Keith might not be the best with words, but he’s better at encouragement than he gives himself credit for. And what he lacks in speech, he makes up for with so many other things. His strength, his speed, his passion, and his heart.

“You too,” Lance says back, and Keith gives him a smile like a fluttering bird. Lance wants to cradle it gently between his hands.

So he does.

“Lance,” Keith whispers, wide-eyed and radiant, and Lance breathes it in, slots their lips together.

_Keith_ , he thinks. _Always pretending to be the most dangerous parts of the swords you wield. Hard alloy, sharp edges, only capable of destruction. But I know your secret. I know the reason you’re like a knife._ Keith sighs into his mouth, draws him closer.

_You just want to be held._

The first wave of the battle is spent fighting Haggar’s robeasts, all piloted by Alteans, probably Mirana’s closest friends. If only they could reason with them before anyone got hurt. Voltron takes out one, and the Atlas incapacitates the other, piloted by Shiro’s skillful hands.

There’s one robeast left, and it’s quicker than the others, dodging blows and laser fire. The Atlas can’t pin it down. It bats at the MFEs like pesky flies.

All of their lions start roaring, the ports for their bayards glowing, even though they’ve already formed sword, formed shield, formed wings. None of them knows what’s going to happen next, but it’s clear what they must do.

With a unified shout, they insert their bayards, turn, and everything goes still.

“What happened?” Hunk says. The sky around them, the stars, everything has a fluorescent hue. “Where are we?”

“I’ve been here before,” Keith responds, awed. “This is where I found Shiro. The astral plane.”

No, not quite. Because Lance can still see the robeast and the Atlas and the other allied ships, suspended in air. “You guys, look,” he says, pointing with the arm his lion forms.

“They’re _frozen_ ,” Pidge gasps, and that’s what Lance thought too.

“No,” says Allura, “Look closer.” And they can see that the Atlas is still moving, the robeast is still firing, the arc of its cannon streaks across the sky in slow motion.

Voltron is still caught in the midst of battle, but it’s also outside in some mystical area, apart from normal time and space.

“Pidge,” Keith says, and she reaches out the green lion’s arm to clutch the robeast, as if it was a doll, limp and pliable, ripping it straight out of the sky.

When they land on the asteroid that’s become Haggar’s new colony, everything goes back to the way it was. Lance hears all of them sucking in air, the transformation back from omnipotent beings to mortal men difficult on their bodies. It causes their lions to split back apart, but as soon as he’s able to catch his breath, Lance starts to whoop, echoed by Pidge and Hunk and even Keith.

“It’s not over yet,” says Allura, and she’s right. There’s an army of Alteans waiting on the ground, Haggar standing proudly behind them.

They all exit their lions, and Allura walks out in front, guiding Mirana who is dressed in a white hospital gown. She looks like an angel of peace.

“Stop!” she cries out to her comrades, her brethren. “Honerva is deceiving you. She promised a new age for Altea, but all she seeks is destruction! Look!” She gestures. “Princess Allura is here! She is the hope of a brighter future. Please, believe me.”

The crowd starts to murmur, and one by one, they lay down their weapons.

“Fools!” Haggar screeches. Energy swirls around her, and she aims to fire at Mirana. Lance’s legs move on instinct, and he puts up his shield.

But no, Lance finds. She wasn’t aiming for Mirana at all. He turns around in horror to find Haggar’s true target, his body seizing on the rocky ground.

_Keith_.

" _Keith_ _!”_ he yells, voice cracking, running to help.

They all watch the color purple streak outward on his skin like dye, down his fingers and up his neck, into the roots of his hair. His eyes glow, pupils narrow, like a cat.

“Keith?” he says again, and the boy launches forward with a feral growl. Lance is barely able to get out of the way.

Haggar cackles, an electric wire running down Lance’s spine. She runs off, and Allura goes after her.

Hunk lifts his bayard, ready to activate, but Lance cries, “Wait, Hunk! Please! Please don’t hurt him.”

It’s a terrible mistake, one that will haunt Lance for years to come, if he manages to survive. Because it gives Keith enough time to get a hold of Hunk’s arm.

“Keith, buddy,” Hunk pleads, right before Keith, face void of recognition, snaps the limb in two.

Pidge screams and fires her cable at Keith’s leg, knocking him to the ground. Hunk lies there too, whimpering, tears rolling down his face and into the dirt. Lance is going to be sick, he’s going to be _sick_.

“Lance!” Pidge yells, more afraid than he’s ever seen her. “Do something!” Because Keith is standing up, holding his luxite blade.

Lance lifts his rifle, but his hands are shaking, and he can barely see, vision blurry through tears. He fires a shot to Keith’s leg that misses. Fires again and hits Keith’s shoulder, but Keith doesn’t even flinch, like he didn’t feel it at all.

_I’m sorry_ , Lance weeps. _I’m sorry_. And fires and fires and fires.

Pidge rushes forward, stunning Keith with her bayard, in the arm, the chest. Anywhere she can reach. It does nothing. He snatches her by the collar of her armor and flings her headfirst into a rock. Her body slumps. She doesn’t move.

Then, Keith sets his eyes on Lance.

When Lance raises his bayard again, it’s not a rifle but a broadsword. He holds it in the stance Keith taught him.

“Wanna spar?” he chokes out, as Keith rushes forward.

Metal hits metal, sending sparks through the air, as Lance fights a battle he seems destined to lose.

Keith has always been the fiercest soldier of them all. At first, Lance hated him for it. Admired him despite it. Fell in love with him because of it.

And now, maybe he dies fighting against it.

Lance lands a lucky blow, the flat of his broadsword to the side of Keith’s head that knocks off his helmet. He throws himself at Keith with all his weight and tackles him to the ground.

“Look at me!” he demands. “Look at me! Keith, snap out of it!”

Keith bares his teeth, and Lance grabs a handful of his hair, tugging hard. “Look!”

“Get... _off!”_ Keith finally yells with a shove, and Lance tumbles to the side.

“Keith, please,” Lance begs, scrambling to his feet before Keith can charge again. “We’re your friends!”

“Friends?” Keith slurs, blinking hard, swaying on his feet like a drunk. “I don’t have _friends_.”

He’s still not himself, but at least he’s talking. Lance is getting through to him. _Keep talking!_ “Yes, you do.”

“No. No, I’ve always been...wrong. _Broken_.”  
  
Lance feels a crack run through his heart, threatening to split him in two. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” he whispers. “You’re a part of our team. Voltron.”  
  
Keith menaces forward, blade raised again. “I’ve never belonged with Voltron. I’m meant to be alone. Isn’t that what you all say?”  
  
“That isn’t true.”

“You _hated_ me!” Keith shouts, swinging, catching Lance’s arm, slicing a thin, red line of blood, but Lance doesn’t move away.  
  
“I never hated you,” he says, realizing it’s the truth, “not ever.”

He leverages his sword against the luxite blade and with a twisting motion, forces the arm behind Keith’s back. _Like a hug_ , he thinks deliriously. Lance holds it there, his left hand around Keith’s left wrist, pressed to the bottom of Keith’s spine, squeezing until the blade falls from his grip.

Altean weapons work in mysterious ways, somehow always sensing what their paladins might need, and Lance finds the red bayard, held against Keith’s ribs, transformed into the shape of a dagger.

_No_ , he refuses. He could end things now, but he won’t. He can’t. He’d rather die. He lets the weapon clatter to the ground. Presses his mouth to Keith’s ear, and whispers.

Lance once told Keith that they didn’t know each other very well, but that isn’t true anymore. He knows that Keith is half-Korean and half-Galra. That his father was born in America, the son of immigrants who never passed on their native tongue. That Keith grew up in Texas, under the desert sun, raised by his father, without his mother, and then without both. Lance knows that Keith is a loner, but he knows now that it isn’t by choice, that what Keith really yearns for is a place to belong.

Lance knows that Keith is an incredible pilot and a competent leader, even though he doubts himself. He’s a talented swordsman, fast, and strong. And ambidextrous. Lance knows that Keith could fight with either hand tied down, has done it before. Left or right, doesn’t matter. One is all he needs.

A single noise cuts through the air, something that Lance recognizes instantly. The sound of a bayard’s activation.

_I know_ , his brain plays on repeat. _I know you_.

Keith’s sword sticks out of his abdomen, a far away part of Lance realizes this, but he doesn’t feel pain, doesn’t feel anything besides relief. Because he looks into Keith’s eyes, and they’re dark. Sparkling. The ones Lance knows.  
  
“There. It’s okay,” Lance says fondly. His mouth is slippery. The words taste like metal. “It’s okay. I knew you’d never hurt me.”  
  
Keith is a boy in motion, as likely to run away as to chase. But he’s also a creature of loyalty, and his eyes follow Lance all the way into the dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's a day later than i hoped, holiday travels got in the way, but the epilogue is finally here. to those who were saddened by s8, i hope it is a comfort, and to those who were not, i still hope you enjoy. 
> 
> i've been tossing around ideas for a short, fluffy sequel as well as some post-s8 fic. let me know what you would like to see, and thank you for joining me on this journey. much love.

“Hey,” Keith says to him, his voice soft. Long fingers card through Lance’s hair.

They’re sitting on the roof of the Garrison, the place where it all started. Their legs dangle off the edge, and if Lance stares far enough into the horizon, he can pretend they’re floating through space, surrounded by stardust and nebulae.

The air should be cool, but Lance doesn’t feel it. He’s warm inside the arms of this boy who cradles him with soothing hands, in his hair and down his back.

“There.” Keith hums, and Lance burrows deeper, face pressed against Keith’s neck, obscuring his vision. Sometimes, there are things more important than stars. “You get it all out of your system?”

Lance thinks he should be crying, but his eyes are dry. He apologizes anyway.

“It’s okay.” Keith shrugs around him. “Will you forget this bonding moment too?”

_Of course not_ , he wants to say, but the words give him pause. He pulls back to look Keith in the eye, but Keith is staring out at the stars. They seem even more vibrant now, pulsing with light. Ringing. Lance can _hear_ them.

_I don’t remember these constellations_ , he thinks. And what kind of boy from Earth does that make him? From the time he was cognizant, Lance was gazing at the stars, committing them to memory. Picking out the ones he would visit and imagining the ones he would discover, who he would name them after. Could he really have forgotten?

“Keith...do these stars look different to you?”

Keith doesn’t respond. Instead, he squeezes Lance’s wrist, thumbnail pinching the skin before settling into a gentle pressure. He uses the leverage to pull Lance forward again. Nose to nose.

Keith’s mouth doesn’t smell or taste like bourbon. But it is warm.

Keith kisses him slow. Liquid lips and satin sighs. There’s no confusion for Lance this time, just a desire to _consume_ , to sink down deep and to absorb Keith into his system from the inside out.

_I love you,_ he thinks. _And I don’t know when, and I don’t know how long._ But it’s there, solid and true. Years of admiration and months of increasing affection boiled in his heart, refined over a careful fire into the purest silver feeling.

There’s a groan building in the pit of his chest, a sensation thick and soft like velvet. He wants to deepen the kiss, but Keith isn’t responsive to his efforts, the same motions over and over. It’s frustrating. His hands aren’t cooperating anymore.

As a child, Lance used to have this recurring night terror, of finding a mongoose in the chicken coop, its teeth glossy with blood. And Lance would try to chase it away with a rake that his fingers couldn’t quite grip. He’d try to call for help, but his voice would be frozen in fear. He’d turn around to run and suddenly go blind, eyes masked by fog. The mongoose would catch up to him then, snarling, jaw hinged around Lance’s calf.

He and Keith continue to kiss. There’s no interruption this time, and that’s wrong. The place where they wrote their names on the metallic roof is bare. Team Voltron wasn’t here.

And neither is Lance. Not really.

“Hey,” Keith says to him, from inside a dream. “Hey, Lance. It’s time to wake up.”

 

* * *

 

It happens like this: a stream of quintessence finds its way from Haggar’s fingers, across the rocky expanse, and plants itself inside Keith’s chest. He can’t dodge. He can’t run away. For a moment, the only thing that exists is agony.  
  
A breath later, Keith is standing over Lance’s corpse.  
  
No, not a corpse. Lance is still alive. His skin is still warm. There’s a smile on his face.  
  
_Who?_ is Keith’s first reaction, a swift and blinding rage. Lance is injured. Lance is everything. _Who did this to you?_  
  
But the answer is evident as the sword sticking out of Lance’s stomach. Black with a bayard-shaped handle, around a wound that gushes blood with every heartbeat.  
  
_Stop_ , he cries, pressing shaky palms to the site. They’re unrecognizable, Galra-colored flesh stretched over bones that somehow respond to Keith’s commands. Red seeps under the nails. _No. Please._  
  
In his mind, Keith reduces himself from a soldier to a thing, rearranges his atoms to form a living suture. _Take everything_ , he begs. _It’s yours._  
  
An eternity passes before he regains awareness with a pressure over his hand that reassembles Keith’s fragmented self into the shape of a boy.  
  
Keith looks up at an apparition, skin as white and ghostly as its hair. No, not a ghost. It’s Shiro, pale, and more terrified than Keith has ever seen him.  
  
“Keith, what did you do?”  
  
“Sh-Shiro,” Keith sobs, body convulsing so violently, he nearly bites off his own tongue. Every hiccuping breath he takes feels like a shot from Lance’s rifle. “H-help me.”

He’ll never be able to recall what happened after that. The repressed memory is a mercy he doesn’t deserve.

There are flashes. Shiro carrying Lance to the Atlas. Keith sitting in the bathroom, staring at his own strange reflection, violet-hued face spattered with blood. His mother there, murmuring words meant to comfort, wiping a damp cloth across his neck. Whatever else he experiences is lost, numbed and voided.  
  
Three days later, Keith spills from a healing pod into Coran’s arms with a single name on his tongue.  
  
“Still under, I’m afraid,” Coran answers, mustache twitching sympathetically.  
  
Keith’s eyes are drawn to another capsule. Behind the glass, Lance’s face rests un-moving. He feels himself jolt backwards, nearly landing on his ass.  
  
_Can’t be here_ , his mind races. _Dangerous_ . Keith runs away faster than Coran can catch him. He makes it all the way to his room in the Atlas before collapsing on the floor.  
  
For the next week, Keith wants, with every fiber of his being, to leave. He wants to hop into a single-pilot jet and launch himself into space, unmarked, without trajectory. He wants to fly far enough to be forgotten, to start a new existence that doesn’t damage all it encounters.  
  
But he won’t. For the first time, he can’t. He’s tethered here, to Lance with roots that run through his entire body, parallel his veins. They won’t allow Keith to escape, at least not until he knows Lance is okay.  
  
“It’s not your fault,” Shiro tries to tell him, whenever he visits with a plate of food that Keith can’t taste.  
  
Keith shakes his head every time. “I don’t believe that. I can’t.”  
  
“Can’t?” Shiro asks. “Or won’t?”  
  
What does that matter? It’s not even about belief really. It’s fact. Lance is in a healing pod. Lance was stabbed through the abdomen, piercing his intestines, straight through to his spine. Lance may never wake, and if he does, he may never walk again. And Keith put him there. It’s cause and effect. Crime and punishment.  
  
“I should have been strong enough,” he answers, voice cracking, “to fight it. It should never have gotten that far.”  
  
“Should I have been strong enough to communicate with you while I was trapped in the Black Lion?”  
  
“It’s not that same.”  
  
“Keith,” Shiro says sternly, looking down at his own hands. “This body almost killed you. My cloned _consciousness_ almost did.”  
  
“You had no way to prevent that.”  
  
Shiro nods. That’s his point. “And neither did you.”  
  
It’s different, he wants to argue. Because Keith fought back. And won.  
  
“Lance should have killed me,” he chokes, grinding the heels of his palms into his eyelids, lights and shapes blooming behind them. “He had the chance, I know he did.”  
  
“You have to forgive yourself,” Shiro says, keeps saying, and Keith wants to lash out, to cut the words from his mouth like he did Shiro’s arm. “It doesn’t have to be today.”  
  
“I can’t.”  
  
“You will.” To Shiro, it’s an inevitability. “We have to learn to extend the same grace to ourselves as we do others. That is where true strength lies.”  
  
If patience yields focus, then forgiveness yields peace. But Keith is barely-concealed aggression, impulsivity, and violence, molded into the form of a so-called paladin. He has no room for peace.  
  
Keith thinks this time and again. Maybe he says it aloud because Shiro responds.

“We make room.”  


* * *

  
  
Lance wakes in a cot with an IV drip in his arm and a brace around his lower back. He’s in the Garrison med bay. Allura is holding his hand. There’s only one thing on his mind.  
  
“Keith is recovering,” Allura says gently. “We don’t think the effects of the quintessence will be permanent.”  
  
Okay, maybe a couple things. “And Hunk? Pidge?”  
  
“Right here, buddy.”  
  
Lance turns his head, the movement more laborious than it should be. Hunk is sitting at his other side, arm in a sling, but otherwise unharmed.  
  
“Hunk,” he breathes, tears welling. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”  
  
“You and me both.” Hunk offers a half-smile. “They had to set my arm before I was able to get in a pod - that part wasn’t fun - but the worst is over now. And Pidge is fine too.”  
  
“She had a concussion, but it was minor,” Allura adds. “All things considered.”  
  
All things. The phrase is Keith-shaped in Lance’s mind. “Where is he?”  
  
Lance doesn’t have to elaborate on who, but both Hunk and Allura hesitate.  
  
“Shiro is watching over him,” Allura finally says. It’s not a lot to go on, but if Keith is recovering, and if Shiro is watching him, that means he hasn’t torn off into the desert never to be seen again. It’s a start.  
  
“He hasn’t visited?” Lance pushes, and what he really means is _Why isn’t he here right now?_ He needs to see Keith with his own eyes, to feel him under his hands.  
  
“I think he’s dealing with a lot of guilt,” says Hunk, frowning now. He’s staring at the arm immobilized in its sling. “I tried to bring dinner to him once, and he would barely speak to me. He just kept apologizing.”  
  
“You have to tell him that I-"  _Love him?_ No, too personal. “That I don’t regret it.”  
  
There’s a wince on either side. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to make him feel better, Lancey-Lance.”  
  
“Well, it’s the truth!” he says, indignant. “I’d do it again. I mean, I would do it for any of you.”  
  
Hunk gives him a _look_. “You know we all saw you kiss him in the hangar, right?”  
  
Lance turns to Allura for confirmation, and to his mortification, she nods. “I wasn’t going to say anything.” The words are light and teasing, even if the smile accompanying them doesn’t quite reach her eyes.  
  
“Ah, _jeez_.” Lance throws an arm over his face to hide the flush in his cheeks.  
  
Pidge comes in later, Coran and her father in tow. They poke and prod at his extremities, asking, _Can you feel this? Can you feel that?_ The answer is yes, always yes. His toes tingle a bit. There’s static curled in the shape of muscles around the bones of his legs, but the sensation is there.  
  
The entire room breathes a sigh of relief, and it’s only then that Lance realizes how worried they’d all been. In his restful, medically-induced coma, he had it easy.  
  
The months ahead will be tough, with physical therapy, emotional therapy too. But with his family and friends by his side, Lance is ready for whatever the universe has to throw at him. He’s ready for the future, all of it. Because he did mean what he said during the game show. Every word.  
  
Keith doesn’t show up the first day, or the day after that. A week goes by, and Lance can feel the frustration bubbling over, threatening to burst over anyone within earshot, which turns out to be Veronica.  
  
“I’m tired of this!” Lance declares, tossing his hand of cards down on the bed in a fit of petulance. They slide off the sheets and onto the floor.  
  
Veronica pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, unimpressed. She’s been on the receiving end of these tantrums a hundred times before, over a decade and a half of shared bathrooms and long car rides.  
  
“I’m not just bored!” He is _very_ bored, but it’s more than that.  
  
“You’re pissed,” Veronica surmises. “I get it, loverboy.”  
  
“Don’t call me that,” he grouses, slapping her hand away when she tries to poke at his neck. He’s ticklish there, she knows full well. Just one button to press in a long list of tricks to get on _Baby Brother Lance_ ’s nerves.  
  
“So the broody one,” says Veronica, dangerous gleam in her eye.  
  
“Who told you?”  
  
“Older sisters just know these things, Lance.”  
  
“It was Pidge, wasn’t it,” he accuses. Hunk would never sell him out like this.  
  
“They never reveal their sources either.” She winks. It was totally Pidge. “But you have good taste. My dopey brother at the center of a love triangle. In space. Who knew?”  
  
“Guess I should tell you the good news: I’m bisexual. Tada.” Lance completes the reveal with lazy finger guns, feeling slightly short on razzle dazzle after a week lying in bed. It’s not exactly how he pictured his coming out, but he’s good at rolling with the punches.  
  
“Hate to break it to you like this, but that’s not news to me.”  
  
And Lance gapes, slack jawed, torn between shock and offense.  
  
“What?” Veronica asks. “I mean, I wasn’t sure, but I suspected.”  
  
“Well it was news to _me_ !” Lance exclaims, punctuated with two fingers to his chest.  
  
Veronica rolls her eyes, but the grin she gives him is loving. “Sorry, I’m happy for you, really.”  
  
“...thanks.” Lance’s siblings never were easily impressed, especially not by their kid brother. But now that he’s older, he finds it more comforting than disappointing. Their love for him is unchanging. There’s nothing he has to do to earn that approval.  
  
“And if you didn’t grow up so _disturbingly_ heteronormative, you might have realized that I was too.”  
  
“Too what?”  
  
“Bisexual.”  
  
“Oh,” he says, still processing. “ _Oh!_ ”  
  
“You’re not dumb, Lance,” she says, patting his knee. “But you do tend to take things at face value.”  
  
“I sure _feel_ dumb.” He has to wonder at all the ways he and Veronica are alike. They were the only two in his family to move away from the ranch, drawn to the stars, to something bigger than themselves. And he finds there are still similarities to be discovered. “When did you know?”  
  
“For me?” Veronica asks, and he nods. “Around middle school. You?”  
  
“Like, this year,” Lance grumbles. How much easier would it have been if he knew that he liked Keith from the very start? If the way he’d studied Keith’s form in the flight simulator all those years ago hadn’t been justified by competition and rivalry but attraction. “Shiro said everyone’s journey is different.”  
  
“Shiro is a smart guy,” Veronica agrees. “But here’s more news for you. I dated a girl, the year before the Galra invaded.”  
  
Dated? Past tense? _Veronica_. “What happened?”  
  
She shrugs, “She was great. It just didn’t work out.” If there’s tragedy behind those words, Veronica is good at hiding it. “Mom and Dad were very cool about it. So there, I already broke them in for you. You don’t have to thank me.”  
  
“Good,” he teases. “I wasn’t going to.” And Veronica shuffles the whole deck of cards into his face.  


* * *

  
  
Just because Keith can’t run away from Lance doesn’t mean he has to _see_ Lance. He won’t even stay in the same building, holing up on the Atlas, leaving his room for little more than to eat and bathe.  
  
It’s for convenience, he claims. They’re still running tests. He spends a few hours every other day in a pod. Whether it’s part of the healing process or monitoring his sanity, Keith doesn’t question.  
  
His face looks normal again. Purple still lingers at the center of his chest, the point of origin. It grazes his ribs and collarbones and is painted down one of his biceps, all the way to the elbow. It’ll probably never go away.  
  
He takes to wearing the high-necked Garrison uniforms at all times, sleeps in them, doesn’t want anyone to see the evidence of what he became. Refuses to even confront it himself, avoiding mirrors, showering with his eyes closed  
  
He comes back from a healing session one day and finds a tablet sitting on its bed. It’s hacked into the Garrison’s security system and playing a video feed from Lance’s hospital room.  
  
Pidge. She’s the most likely explanation. It’s too much. Seeing Lance awake opens the floodgate to more desires. To talk. To touch. Things Keith can’t allow himself to have.  
  
Torturous as it is, guilty as he feels, Keith watches Lance in moments of joy with his family. Moments of pain Keith shouldn’t be privy to. He watches Lance sleep, feels like voyeur but can’t bring himself to stop.  
  
“I was hoping that would be an encouragement, not a substitute.”  
  
Keith startles from where he’s lying in bed. Allura is standing at the doorway. It’s the first time he’s seen her since the battle. He feels the childish urge to fold the tablet against his chest, hide it away.  
  
“It was you?” he asks about the security footage, surprised.  
  
“It was all of us. Keith, we’re concerned.”  
  
At all the foster homes he lived in, concerned was code for _uncomfortable_. It’s what couples said when Keith refused to meet their eyes or cried when someone tried to touch his dad’s jacket. And when Keith picked fights at school, concerned really meant _scared_ .  
  
_Worry about yourself_ , Keith always wanted to shoot back. _I don’t need anyone else_. It was never true, no matter how hard he tried to believe.  
  
“Keith,” Allura says again. “You have to go see Lance.”  
  
“No.”  
  
She sits on the edge of Keith’s bed and sighs. “I asked you to be gentle with him, didn’t I?”  
  
“And look how well that turned out,” he snaps, curling in on himself, avoiding her gaze. “I’m protecting him.”  
  
“No. You’re being cruel,” she says. Hard truth, no frills attached.  “To Lance and to yourself. You think I don’t understand what you went through. Do you even know how we defeated Haggar?”  
  
Keith doesn’t know. No one told him, and he didn’t ask, too wrapped up in his own anger and sorrow to think about it.  
  
Allura tells him about confronting Haggar in the astral plane, using her alchemic abilities to drain the witch’s quintessence, nearly sacrificing her own life in the process. But when almost everything was stripped away, what remained was the soul of a confused woman who had been corrupted by a power that wielded her instead of the other way around. Honerva.  
  
“She was a scientist. She just wanted to learn more, but in doing so, the quintessence warped her mind until her actions were no longer her own.”  
  
“She and Zarkon knew the risks, didn’t they?” Keith says, more a statement than a question. “And millions paid the price.”  
  
He doesn’t have to remind her. Allura bites at her lip. Of course she knows the cost better than anyone. “Their crimes were despicable. But looking at Honerva, a captive inside her own mind for over ten thousand years, I felt _sorry_ for her. She could have watched me destroy my own soul in order to absorb all that quintessence, but instead, she chose to give it back to the universe, knowing full well she couldn’t live without it.”  
  
“Seems like a small price to pay,” Keith murmurs.  
  
“Maybe so,” she says. “I don’t know what it would take for someone who committed such heinous acts to truly achieve redemption, especially when it comes to Honerva and Haggar. Villain and victim, sharing the same body.”  
  
“Two sides of the same coin,” says Keith. To him, they’re equally complicit.  
  
Allura hums, not quite in agreement. “I do think there is something that separates them.”  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
“Choice,” she says softly. “Something that you didn’t have, Keith. And that’s why no one can blame you for what happened. You can argue that Honerva made the choice to continue her research knowing the dangers involved, but you never made the choice to be used as a weapon.”  
  
Keith clenches his fists, feels the stubs of his nails carve lunar imprints into his palms.  
  
“You are not responsible,” Allura continues, stealing the tablet away. It’s a reassurance as much as a reproach. “But if you _choose_ to keep avoiding Lance, then we might have a problem.” 

The following night, after everyone is in bed, Keith sneaks out across the sand, over the wired fence, and into the Garrison. It’s unnecessary - he’s a paladin of Voltron. He could walk right in through the gate at any time of day with no ID, just a wave of his hand.

The covert aspect of this mission gives Keith a sense of control. And he knows that if he runs into anyone, it’ll be all the excuse he needs to turn tail and flee.

There aren’t any guards posted at the door to Lance’s room. Keith listens for a minute but doesn’t hear any noise coming from within. _Probably sleeping._ He slips inside quietly, pulling the door closed behind him with a gentle click.

“There you are,” a voice sighs, and Keith turns around to see Lance in the flesh. He’s propped up slightly but lying on his side, face in full view. “I had a good feeling about tonight,” he says, and his smile is the same one from the battlefield, soft and beautiful. It crawls into Keith’s chest cavity and wrings something from him, violent and severe.

Contrary to what many would believe, Keith has always been an easy crier. That’s why he avoids talking about his childhood, his parents, the painful things that defined him for so many years. He knows the triggers and how to skirt them. Vulnerability makes him tense, a survival mechanism ingrained and bolstered by years of isolation.

So when the tears start to flow, mortified as he feels, there’s nothing Keith can do to stop them.

“Oh, Keith,” Lance breathes, beckoning him closer. “Sweetheart, come here.”

Keith falls to his knees beside the cot and allows the sheets soak with salt. He tries to confess every regret, to beg for forgiveness he doesn’t deserve, but all that comes out are great, gasping sobs.

Lance wriggles a hand into Keith’s, just like he’s wormed himself into every other aspect of Keith’s life. He speaks quiet words meant to console, and it helps, even if Keith can’t parse their meanings.

“Lie down,” Lance suggests when the air returns to Keith’s lungs. As if Keith could refuse him anything.

He curls on his left side, facing Lance. The bed is narrow, and Lance is already taking up most of it, but they make do.

_Don’t fall asleep,_ Keith tells himself, even as his eyes begin to droop shut. _Can’t miss anything. Can’t miss-_

When he wakes a few hours later, the light is still dim, and Lance’s eyes are still open, studying him. They’re pins in Keith’s wings, like a butterfly on a board, to prevent him from floating away.

“Panic attacks,” Lance says. “Hunk used to have them. They really take it out of you.”

_Is that what that was?_ Keith stifles a yawn into Lance’s pillow. “This okay?”

“S’perfect,” Lance slurs sleepily before pressing a feather-light kiss to Keith’s forehead, the round of his cheek. His jawline.

_Stop_ , he wants to chastise. _I’ll only cause you pain._ Lance’s lips are soft, and Keith’s edges are sharp. _You’re supposed to cherish the rose, not its thorns._

Lance’s fingers dance at his collar, reaching for its buttons. “Why’re you wearing this stuffy uniform?”

“I thought you liked them.”

“Not in _bed_.” When he bares Keith’s neck, brushes a thumb over the hollow of his throat, Keith freezes

“Don’t look,” he warns, but Lance leans as far forward as he can and kisses that dark spot too.

“You aren’t going to hurt me, Keith.”

“You’re joking, right?” Keith chokes. Wouldn’t history say otherwise? Isn’t injury what he does best?

“Not on _purpose_ , dummy,” Lance scoffs. “Fine, turn around.”

Keith obeys, flipping onto his other side. Lance’s arms wrap around his middle, holding him in place.

“Is your back okay?” Keith asks, and he feels Lance nod against his shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re here,” says Lance and must sense Keith’s burgeoning need to apologize.  “I know why you stayed away. I hated it, but I get it. You’re already forgiven, dude.”

“I haven’t even done anything to earn it yet.”

“Plenty of time for that,” Lance purrs in a tone that makes Keith blush. “Not in a dirty way,” he clarifies, as Keith’s insides writhe with both embarrassment and want.  “At least not until I get my legs back.”

“ _Lance_.”

“I love you,” Lance says suddenly, without hesitance. “Wait, no. I did that wrong. I wanted to see your face, turn around.”

But if Keith turns around, he’ll lose the nerve to say it back. “I love you too.” And the sentiment courses through him, magma burbling from his heart to the top of his throat, lava flowing into his mouth. “God, I love you  _so much_ , Lance. It scares me.”

Lance is giggling behind him, giddy with exhaustion.

“Sure, I bare my soul to you, and you _laugh_.”

“Oh, Keith,” Lance says, voice high and quaking with restraint. “Oh, man. I’m gonna date you so hard. The universe won’t know what hit it.”

“I don’t know about the universe,” says Keith, “but I’m sure the others are going to get tired of that real quick.”

“Well, I know for a fact that we already have Hunk and Shiro’s blessings. Veronica’s too. And my parents who, by the way, are going to love you. Pidge will warm up to it in no time. And Allura,” he pauses. Keith knows they had something together, something he never expected to get in the way of. “Well, Allura is the best.”

“She is,” Keith agrees without a shred of jealousy.

“But I can’t believe she’s going to be leaving already,” says Lance. Keith’s breath catches. “Like, I know rebuilding the Altean Empire and restoring peace to the galaxy is important, but don’t we deserve at least a year off? I know Shiro is thinking about going with her.”

And this is it. This is where Keith ruins it all. He was foolish to believe something so perfect could belong to him. “Lance-”

“Don’t get me wrong, when I’m back on my feet, I’d like to join the mission too. As long as you do, that is.”

“Lance. I’m going with them.”

Keith feels Lance stiffen behind him, hands stilling against the fabric of Keith’s uniform. Every second of silence that passes, Keith grows more nauseated.

“Say something,” he pleads.

“...When?”

“Two weeks,” Keith confesses, and he can feel Lance shaking his head.

“I can’t believe this,” he says. “Why did I ever think…” _That it was a good idea to fall in love with you_ , Keith completes the thought. _That I could ever change you. That you were worth dying for._ They’re all far meaner things than Lance would ever say. The sentence hangs there unfinished.

Keith turns to face Lance’s crumpled expression. He owes him that much. “I know you think I’m running away.”

“Aren’t you?”

“No,” he vows. “That’s not what this is. I made a promise to Allura, before we even fought the robeasts. I swore that I would lead the Blade of Marmora to unite the Alteans and the Galra once again.”

“You’re leaving me.”

“It has to happen now,” Keith insists. “Before anyone else has the chance to take power at the Kral Zera.” Lance doesn’t respond. _He hates you_. “I’m sorry. I know you must be angry.”

“Angry?” Lance says, voice ragged. “There isn’t a word for all the things I’m feeling right now.”

“I can go-”

“Uh, no fucking way.” The words surprise Keith. Lance reaches out, holds him in place. “Two weeks, right? We gotta make it count.”

“Are you...sure?”

“I’m tired, Keith,” he sighs. “Too tired for this conversation. Just go to sleep. We’ll both feel better in the morning.”

Keith doesn’t find the same assurance in the promise of morning, and sleep too eludes him.

 

* * *

 

In the weeks that follow, the knowledge of Keith’s nearing departure hangs heavy between them.

It’s hard to hold Keith’s noble ventures against him. The timing is bad, but when has it ever been good? Lance knows the Blade and Allura need him - Keith _is_ the future after all. Lance just hoped it would be a future that included _him_.

He inserts himself into every preparatory meeting he can, if only to spend more time with his friends before they leave. Shiro, Allura, Coran, and Keith. Team Voltron split in half. He corners them, as much as one can while being pushed around in a wheelchair, under the guise of playing a round of Monsters & Mana. Then, sitting around Lance’s bed, he offers to go with them.

“No,” four voices say in unison, so resolute and final, they shut down any hope of persuasion.

Keith sits under the blankets with him, one leg thrown over Lance’s. He leans forward to get a better look at the holographic board, mumbling to himself.

“I still don’t understand this game. Where are the spaces?”

At least Pidge and Hunk will be staying with Lance, the OG Garrison trio. Hunk still isn’t ready for travel with his arm, and Lance doesn’t know if Hunk would want to go, even if cast removal and physical therapy weren’t concerns. He needs to spend time mending with his family.

Pidge does too. She and Matt have already been made offers to get the Garrison’s artificial intelligence development program off the ground.  The Holts will stick together from now on, whether that be on Earth or in space.

Even the lions will be staying behind. It was decided that the coalition should distance itself from Voltron for the time being, to send a message. Sometimes, there are problems better solved by diplomacy than the physical might of a mystical robot soldier.

After that news is announced, Pidge takes to calling Shiro, Keith, and Allura _The Deserters_ just to get a rise out of them, and the nickname leaves Shiro looking stricken every time.

Lance and Keith spend more time _being_ together than talking because talking is _frustrating._

Whenever Lance tries to make plans for how they can stay in touch, Keith just says, _I’ll be back_ , as if that’s supposed to make it easier. He’ll be back in a _year._ There’s no telling what could change in that much time.

Even though his track record has something to be desired, Lance isn’t really worried about either of them falling out of love. He just wants to be an adult when it comes to their relationship. He’s serious about Keith, maybe more than he’s been about anything in his life. And that level of commitment requires some kind of long-term strategy.

After some bribery, Pidge procures custom communicators, supposedly on a private channel, and he makes Keith try them out, testing the best angles. Lance stares at Keith’s two-dimensional face, blinking awkwardly at the attention of the camera, and imagines the year ahead.

When the day comes, Lance sits in a wheelchair at the edge of the Atlas’s runway as _The Blade of Altea_ says their goodbyes. He keeps trying to stand, tired of everyone having to stoop to his level, but Hunk scolds him with firm hands on his shoulders. _Don’t push yourself._

“I’m going to miss you, Lance,” Shiro says, leaning down to give him a hug. He finds that their mutual affection for a certain hot-headed paladin has brought them closer.

“Just don’t get married in space without us,” Lance ribs, taking pleasure in the blush that spreads across the bridge of Shiro’s nose. He and Adam are taking the plunge into space together this time, and Lance couldn’t be happier for them.

Coran bawls the entire time, and Allura stands next to him, looking radiant. This is exactly what she was always meant to do, and Lance knows that she’s going to be an incredible leader.

Keith is dressed in his Blade suit and gear. Lance has always secretly thought it was a good look, but now he’s finally able to admit it. Keith’s eyes are on the skies, hair fluttering in the breeze. The other Marmorans gather to him.

_Why did I ever think that I would be enough for you?_ The thought drifts through Lance’s mind again. But then, Keith turns and smiles at him. Lance crushes the doubts up inside his fist and scatters them to the wind.

“Hey.” 

“Hey, yourself,” says Lance, keeping his voice casual. “Looks like you’ve got a long journey ahead.”

“Looks like,” Keith repeats before kneeling in front of Lance’s chair.

Lance is painfully aware of everyone’s eyes on them. _He’s not proposing!_ Lance wants to shout because surely not. Right? Keith isn’t a wordy guy, but surely they would talk about it beforehand.

Keith doesn’t give Lance a ring, but instead hands over his bayard. Between them, the object is weighty, both in substance and history. Once, it had almost taken Lance’s life, but before that, it belonged to Shiro who had passed it on to Keith because he trusted him. And now, Keith entrusts it to Lance for the same reason.  

“I want you to take care of this,” Keith requests. “Until I come back.”

“I think I can do that,” Lance accepts, and Keith extends his now empty hands toward Lance’s face.

Lance gives the kiss everything he has, a year’s worth of emotion conveyed in messy lips and sighs. Kissing Keith is like sitting on the roof of the Garrison, or lying in the yard of his childhood home, drinking in the starlight, a thirst for space that could never be quenched. Even if Lance could absorb a year’s worth of taste and feeling through Keith’s lips, it still wouldn’t be enough.

Lance’s cheeks are wet, but when they pull back, Keith’s eyes are red too, so maybe they’re both to blame.

_I love you_ , his heart pounds. _I’ll miss you_. _Stay safe up there, Samurai,_ he whispers to the air, long after the Atlas is out of sight. _I’ll see you in a year._

 

* * *

 

To Keith, wandering is a familiar practice, whether alone or with others. He enjoys the discovery of new planets and creatures, even knowing he’ll have to move on. Still, there are times when the journey grows weary.

He watches the shape of the Lions as the Atlas ascends, until they become colorful smudges against the landscape his boyfriend calls home.

Having a place to return to is wonderful and new.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes, Lance dreams about that terrible fight. Of Haggar’s mad cackle, Pidge’s motionless body, Hunk’s arm snapping like a twig. In the dream, sometimes they win, but sometimes they lose. Sometimes a blade finds its way into his gut, but other times, it’s a dagger in Keith’s side.

Sometimes, Lance sends Keith a message afterwards, something innocuous. _Hey, man._ Because he doesn’t want Keith to worry or to feel guilty. These terrors aren’t his fault. Sometimes, Keith responds, but sometimes he can’t, asleep or out of range. That part sucks the most.

One thing that stays constant through the nightmares is this: Lance pulling Keith into his arms. Lance’s mouth at Keith’s ear. Lance whispering, over and over:

“ _You are not alone, Keith_.” And. “ _You belong with me_.”


End file.
